We acknowledge the traditional custodians of this land, the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation. The University of Sydney – where we write, publish and distribute Honi
Soit – is on the sovereign land of these people. As students and journalists, we recognise our complicity in the ongoing colonisation of Indigenous land. In recognition of
our privilege, we vow to not only include, but to prioritise and centre the experiences of Indigenous people, and to be reflective when we fail to. We recognise our duty
to be a counterpoint to the racism that plagues the mainstream media, and to adequately represent the perspectives of Indigenous students at our University. We also
wholeheartedly thank our Indigenous reporters for the continuing contribution of their labour to our learning.

EDITORIAL

CONTENTS

I’m tired. There’s no limit to the number of tasks I think I can handle and stack
on my plate. “Classic Capricorn”, my friends say. The more I add to my plate, the
more frantic and stretched-thin I get. Every passion project is now an onerous
box to be ticked before I get onto the next one. Everything is done just in time.
Just in time. I’m tired.
You’re almost there: it’s the penultimate week of semester. It’s the penultimate
week of the year. Crowning on the horizon, you can see the summer holidays. You
can feel the temperature (and the humidity) rising. All the childhood memories of
lazy, barmy afternoons, imagining an adult life where this time of day, this time
of year, is it.
Is this pre-nostalgia? Liam Donohoe writes a piece about this feeling, and you can
read it on page 10. It’s a funny feeling though—similar to how it feels to be at a
massive institution like this, and feel like you’ve just missed the heyday. Old Honi
editions look like much more fun, as do old photos of campus. Alison Xiao looks
at this in our feature this week: about the recent downturn of our colleagues in
collegiate media. You can find that on page 12. Was it the chicken or the egg?
Was campus culture dwindling already? Or was it other factors that drove eager
students away from print media.
I feel like campus life is a lot like Sydney in general at the moment. The sentiment
is that “it was better before”. Why? Everyone seems to be having fun, campus
life is definitely bigger than when I started here in [REDACTED]. Are we just all
massive hipsters, buying into this image of Sydney as this placed that birthed us
but we’re now too cool for?
I’m tired. I’ll think about that when I wake up.
AR

I have thus far refrained from writing to your paper
all year despite the numerous occasions on which my
normally robust patience has been tested. Yet I feel
that, given the magnitude of your recent editorial
hubris, my unwavering respect for authority and rabid
centrism behoove me to give voice to my concerns.
I am referring of course to your flagrantly irresponsible
decision to publish ‘The State of Non-Compliance’ in the
Week 10 edition of your paper, an incident to which my
attention was drawn by the righteous condemnation
of our city’s most reputable news gazette, The Daily
Telegraph. After recovering from the state of utter
shock that this inflammatory drivel instilled in me, I
found myself angrily pondering a number of concerns.
Whomst, might I ask, is this “Thorne” — a character
apparently so prodigious amongst the fare evading
community, that he thinks it appropriate to adopt a
mononym in the by line? I suppose such arrogance is
typical from a class of person who considers himself so
entitled to public services.

Furthermore, I query, who is “Liams Donohoe”? From
where did his parents contrive the arrogance to make
his name plural? One remembers the subversion
of authority attributed to one “Doon” in an earlier
edition of your paper and wonders, are these strange
names nothing more than cowardly attempts by your
reporters to hide behind juvenile pseudonyms?

Do we feel good? Potentially.

I propose that our city’s fair transport officers proceed
to treat all customers named “Liam”, or, indeed, “Liams”,
with extreme prejudice, and violence if necessary.
Clearly this pseudonym has acquired currency in the
underground fare evading scene, and any patron of the
public transport system who chooses to go by such a
name is explicitly endorsing this scourge and should
be treated with according hostility.

The taxpayers who are subsidising your shiny ass
education, and probably your concession passes and
Centrelink benefits, are the people you are stealing
from. Does that make you proud ? Does it make you
feel good ?

As for the editorial policy which permitted such
insolence and delinquency, it is of great relief to
me that the expiration of your term is nigh. I do not
hesitate to speak on behalf of the student body — nay,
the entire population of our fair city — in expressing
exuberant relief that the incoming editorial team will
at long last restore the moderate, obedient docility
that has characterised quality student journalism over
the years.
Yours in indignant anger and scorn,
Joseph R. Verity
(‘This is Definitely Not How to Fare Evade’ Semester 2:
Week 10)

What gauche and unsophisticated people Liams
Donohoe and Thorne must be if they think it’s okay
to steal. Fare evasion is no better than shoplifting or
knocking off cash from your Mum’s purse. It’s tacky and
unethical.

Anyway, you’d think a couple of boys who are privileged
enough to attend Sydney Uni could afford a train ticket.
Are you tight asses as well as thieves ?
Yours Sincerely
Andrew Curran
(‘This is Definitely Not How to Fare Evade’ Semester 2:
Week 10)

Had gripes with us during the year?
Want to send a letter of rage?
Too late, you missed your chance,
sorry. You had enough opportunities.
How’s it feel? Couldn’t be me.

Disclaimer: Honi Soit is published by the Students’ Representative Council, University of Sydney, Level 1 Wentworth Building, City Road, University of Sydney NSW 2006. The SRC’s operation
costs, space and administrative support are financed by Sydney University SSAF. Honi Soit is printed under the auspices of the SRC’s directors of student publications: Vincent Wang, Charlotte
Haunton, Rebeccah Miller, Alexi Cassis, Sarah Cutter-Russell and Chanum Torres. All expressions are published on the basis that they are not to be regarded as the opinions of the SRC unless
specifically stated. The Council accepts no responsibility for the accuracy of any of the opinions or information contained within this newspaper, nor does it endorse any of the advertisements
and insertions. Please direct all advertising inquiries to publications.manager@src.usyd.edu.au.

A N A LY S I S

Turnout for what: Does USyd need compulsory
voting?
Alison Xiao wants you to get your SSAFs worth.
The next 600 words are a waste of breath. The SRC
and the USU are unlikely to ever introduce compulsory
voting.
It’s hard to imagine how this would be feasible.
Perhaps rather than having in-person polling, the SRC
and the Union could replicate the model for USyd
Senate elections, which have been conducted online
for the past few years, with the University emailing
a unique voter link to all students. The University
would face difficulty enforcing mandatory voting
requirements. It could try punitive strategies, like
withholding students’ final marks or applying financial
penalties. Sure, measures like this would probably be
unfair and elicit prohibitive backlash. But I’m not here
to argue the ins and outs of practicality.
I’m curious—what would campus politics look like if
34,000 undergraduates voted for SRC representatives,
and 59,000 students cast their ballot for Union board
directors?

What would campus
politics look like if 34,000
undergraduates voted for SRC
representatives?
The large majority of students view campus politics
as an insular bubble—a haven for arts kids with 12
contact hours, CVs to pad, and political dreams to
chase. This year, 6 per cent of eligible students voted
in the USU elections, while 13 per cent voted in the
SRC elections. The results of these elections do not
necessarily reflect the student body—only those
tapped in enough to care, and those unlucky enough
to be hassled on Eastern Avenue.
Could compulsory voting cure the woes of student
disenfranchisement?
Fourth-year student and Board Director Jacob
Masina, a moderate Liberal, believes compulsory voting
could go a long way towards lowering voter apathy.
Under this new system, he would like to see mirror
representation based on faculty, where each faculty
would elect a number of representatives proportionate
to its size.
It would be a “guaranteed intersection of the student
community engaged in the election,” he said.
But it is unclear if compulsory voting would result
in genuine political engagement or just more donkey
votes. In this year’s SRC elections, informal ballots

accounted for 6 per cent of total votes. In federal
elections, there is evidence that compulsory voting
does increase political awareness and engagement.
After studying 133 elections from 47 countries, a 2015
study from ANU found that compulsory voting boosted
civic engagement.
Since 2016, international student voters have
increased their engagement with campus politics,
which has historically ignored the matters they care
about. Candidates backed by international student
groups have enjoyed a meteoric rise, with engineering
student Jacky He winning the SRC presidency this year.
He believes that it is more democratic to give
students the choice to vote “rather than forcing
them into voting”. The president-elect said it would
be “inappropriate” for voting to be compulsory for
students who didn’t necessarily care about student
politics.
In an arena where only 22 per cent of the student
body are international students, compulsory voting
could, in fact, curb international students’ electoral
success.
It is also possible that campus elections would
mimic Australia’s political norm—a swinging pendulum
between Labor and Liberal candidates, locking out
far-left campus groups like Grassroots, which has
consistently polled successfully at USU elections and
has held the SRC presidency for two of the past four
years.
Board Director and Unity (Labor Right) campaign
manager, Connor Wherrett, believes compulsory
voting would help the Unity brand and the Labor
Party at large. “Our values are mainstream, pragmatic
progressive values that would resonate with most of
the mainstream population.”
But that would only be the case if compulsory voting
didn’t push more “popular” independent candidates
into the race. The number of Young Liberal and Young
Labor students could remain flat, while compulsory
voting could encourage the student body to seek
other options—a protest vote, if you will, against
the two parties that dominate national politics.
Then again, if that proved to be the case, ambitious,
politically-affiliated candidates could just run on
apolitical branding. This model is already a favourite
with the campus Moderate Liberals, who often run as
independents—or “Libdependents” if you will.
Research hasn’t shown that compulsory voting
favours the right or the left, but in a compulsory

election, it doesn’t work to your benefit to energise
your base to the exclusion of other voters. Instead,
swing voters are much more valuable, pushing the
results to the centre.
“In recent years, those further left have done well
out of catering to a passionate minority,” Wherrett
said, suggesting that the far-left would struggle under
a compulsory system.
Masina also believes more moderate candidates
would stand to benefit, rather than those with “radical
ideological” beliefs. “If students are told they have to
vote, they’d vote pragmatically, looking at the core
functions of the SRC which is to advocate for students,”
he said.

It is unclear if compulsory
voting would result in genuine
political engagement or just
more donkey votes
He said that the SRC’s activism around the Israel/
Palestine conflict, for example, doesn’t cater to the
direct and relevant interests of students. “[Students]
would vote on more moderate lines to serve the
direct best interests of the community, rather than
abstract debates that operate outside the sphere of the
University.”
Lara Sonnenschein, the Grassroots candidate for
SRC president this year, is also in favour of compulsory
voting.
“[It] would create a different political culture on
campus where … candidates can be held to account or
public scrutiny on a broader level,” she said. “I think it’d
also increase the awareness of student organisations
... which would be a positive thing in and of itself
regardless of who was elected.”
Unlike Masina, she thinks that compulsory voting
would strengthen the left on campus. “I would imagine
... conservative influence would decrease by some
degree.”
It seems like establishment student politicians
from all sides—everyone except He’s faction—are
pro-compulsory voting. But it’s unlikely that they’ve
cultivated enough goodwill with the wider student
population to convince them that the inconvenience of
exercising their democratic right is worth it.

TURNOUT IN STUDENT BODY ELECTIONS VS STUDENT NUMBERS

-3-

ANALYSIS

Is Sydney Law School too harsh on its students?
Lamya Rahman crunched the numbers to find out which universities’ law faculties overload their students.
The first things I learnt about being a student at Sydney
Law School were (a) ‘you’re going to cry’ (b) closed book
exams (c) ‘Taste is horrible but we all pretend we like it’
and (d) ‘did you know we have more closed book exams
than any other law school?’
While it didn’t take long for (a) to happen and (c) to
become a self-fulfilling prophecy, (b) and its reiteration
in (d) always intrigued me.
We all know the stereotypes. If law schools in
Sydney were characters in Matilda, USyd would be
Miss Trunchbull and UTS would be Miss Honey. Sydney
Law School, particularly its assessment practice, is
often seen as harsh, unforgiving, and stuck in the past,
especially when compared to the newer, seemingly
friendlier and innovative models offered at UTS and
UNSW, or even Macquarie.
But are these stereotypes necessarily true? Is USyd
law school as daunting as it sounds, or does our law
school just have the most whiny students? Honi carried
out an investigation.

Methodology
We collected information on the type of assessments
and their weighting across all the core units comprising
a Bachelor of Law at five Sydney-based law schools:
the University of Sydney, University of New South
Wales, University of Technology, Western Sydney
University, and Macquarie University. Information
about assessment policies came from publicly available
sources, mainly course descriptors and unit outlines
from 2017-2018.
We then divided assessments into six categories:
1.
2.

3.
4.
5.
6.

Assignment: any written assignment, excluding
research essays and in-class assessments.
Open or closed exam: formal, sit-down
examination taking place during the midsemester break or delegated exam period.
Quiz: timed online quiz or test.
Research essay: any written assessment
described as an essay.
Participation: tutorial attendance and
engagement.
In-class assessments: task to be completed
during class, including essays and tests.

We first calculated the total available marks across
all core units of a law degree at each university. We
then calculated how many marks are awarded for each
type of assessment, to assess the relative importance
of each assessment format. At Sydney Law School, for
example, 2.5 per cent of all available marks over your
degree are awarded for research essays, signalling that
research essays are valued less than other assessment
formats. We have also considered how much specific
tasks are weighted in a given unit of study—for
example, Criminal Law at USyd allocates 40 per cent to
a research essay.

Exam weighting by institution
Macquarie

Any exam
50% weighting or over
60% weighting or over

9.50%
4.10%

57.10%

UNSW

46.60%

71.00%
USYD

36.40%

UTS

20.30%

33.20%

58.70%
58.70%

WSU

above is WSU, where these constitute 58.7 per cent of
all the available marks. In comparison, the figures are
22.1 per cent for UNSW, 3.1 per cent for UTS and 8.1 per
cent for Macquarie.
Highly weighted exams have been criticised for
encouraging cramming, as the absence of regular,
spaced assessments means students often leave all
their work till the end. This was an issue brought up
at Academic Board. Student Support Services told the
Assessment Working Group of Academic Board earlier
this year of the existence of an assessment logjam in
Week 7, 11 and 13, one which places unprecedented
demand on CAPS and Disability Services.
But students at USyd, perhaps growing used to our
assessment model, do not necessarily take issue with
the highly weighted exams—that is, if they are open
book.
A Sydney University Law Society (SULS) survey
circulated in Semester 1 this year asked students about
their experience at law school in 2017. Current SULS
Vice-President (Education) Eric Gonzales said, “Many
students explained that closed book examinations are
more stressful than other assessment formats and are
different from legal practice.”
Of all marks available in a USyd law degree, 19.1 per
cent come from closed book examinations. To put this
into perspective, closed book examinations only make
up 3.1 per cent of the available marks in a degree at
UNSW, Sydney Law School’s main competitor.

Closed book exams as a percentage
of all exams
19.10%

The results
USyd is the worst when it comes to exams
Exams are a common component of the assessment
practices of three law schools—USyd, WSU, and
UNSW. But only at Sydney Law School do exams with a
weighting of more than 70 per cent comprise 36.4 per
cent of available marks. This data includes two opt-in
assessments, both from the Equity and Evidence units
of study. If a student chooses not to undertake those
assessments, then almost 40 per cent of their marks
would come from exams weighted 70 per cent or over.
Further, highly weighted exams are not common
among other law schools in Sydney. Besides USyd, the
only university to have exams worth 50 per cent or

12.70%

3.10%
UNSW

57.40%

USYD

-4-

WSU

Over the years, Sydney Law School has justified
its preference for closed book exams on two grounds,
both formally in press releases and informally in the
opinions of particular staff members.
Firstly, closed book examinations allegedly reduce
the likelihood of cheating, a concern plaguing law
schools after a 2016 Fairfax investigation unearthed
widespread academic misconduct in the sector.
Secondly, closed examinations allegedly produce
better law students and future lawyers. Barring access
to material in exam conditions should, theoretically,
rigorously test a student’s understanding of the law.
But this does not reflect practice, where reference
materials are always on hand—and it does not
necessarily have the desired effect.
In the 2019 QS Law School rankings, USyd ranked
14th and UNSW 16th. Only 2.2 points separated the two
when it came to Employer Reputation. This metric is
based n responses to the QA Employer Survey, which
asks employers to identify institutions they believe
produce the most competent, effective graduates.
USyd scored 95.9, UNSW closely behind with 93.7.
It seems that whether or not a law school has closed
book exams makes little difference for a student’s
employability. The biggest issue facing law graduates
is the oversupply of lawyers and record high levels of
unemployment. So if closed book exams do not make a
difference to our graduate outcomes, why have them at
all, especially when it creates extra stress for students?

WSU is the new USyd?
It’s perhaps fair to say WSU is the underdog of law
schools in Sydney. New to the game, WSU School of
Law has faced criticism for having coursework that is
perceived as less intellectually demanding.
So it’s surprising given this stereotype that WSU is
the second harshest law school in Sydney, according
to the data.
A skeptic would say WSU’s closeness to the USyd
model is like a start-up trying to be the new Apple.
But a closer look reveals some innovation in WSU’s
teaching and curriculum. WSU was the only university
to include mooting—something many lawyers actually
do in practice—as a formal assessment. The university
also included viva voces, oral exams where examiners
ask students questions, to test the oral skills of future
lawyers.
These are practical skills many argue USyd does
not assess or teach. Except that USyd does, in a way.
Our well-funded law society and our focus on extracurricular activities encourages students to participate

ANALYSIS

USyd and WSU, compared
57.41% 58.70%

19.14%
12.67%
4.32%
Closed Book
Exam

Exams over
50%

2.67%

Participation

USyd
WSU

in activities like mooting, negotiations and public
speaking competitions, which prepares them for the
workforce.
But not all students can be involved, and when the
onus is on students to seek out these opportunities,
many graduate without ever developing or being tested
on skills essential to modern legal practice.

The light after exams
Exams aren’t the only assessments at law school, as
ubiquitous as they may seem. UTS and Macquarie, so
far largely absent from this data analysis, use a mix of
exams and other assessment formats.
At UTS, the law department primarily prefers
a combination of assignments (36.4 per cent) and
exams (33.24 per cent), followed by class participation
(18.65 per cent). Only at UTS do we find units of study
where participation marks have a weighting 30 per
cent or over (with the exception of the Contracts and

Torts unit of study at UNSW). These units include
Australian Constitutional Law, Civil Practice, Equity,
Administrative Law, Legal and Professional Skills, and
Ethics Law and Justice.
The SULS survey revealed that USyd law students
prefer class participation to all other assessment
formats. Out of 119 respondents, 81 students found
structured class participation most conducive to
learning.
Assessable participation certainly has its benefits.
The assessment format usually requires each student
to be ‘on call’ for one or two tutorials of the semester;
in those weeks, students have to be familiar with
the readings and lead discussion. This system, at a
minimum, ensures students will do the requisite study
for their on call weeks, meaning not everything is left
until the very end.
But the on call system also has the opposite effect,
where students only do work for their allocated week.
At UTS, though, where subjects give a huge weighting
to participation, assessments often consist of more
than the standard one or two on call tutorials to avoid
the build-up of work for one or two weeks.
For example, in UTS Australian Constitutional Law,
participation is weighed at 40 per cent. Of those marks,
10 per cent come from regular seminar participation.
Another 10 per cent from a reading log, where students
must display evidence of critical engagement with
course readings. The last 20 per cent come from “role
play”, which is likely a less structured version of a moot.
In Administrative Law, providing feedback on fellow
students’ assessments online and in-person comprises
20 per cent of the 40 per cent participation mark.
The focus on participation at UTS is in stark contrast
to USyd, where participation marks only account for
2.8 per cent of available marks in the law degree. If UTS
is the kind-hearted friend who’s always there to listen
when you need them, then USyd is the cold hearted
colleague who only cares about business.
Most law students are known ‘Type As’—ambitious,

competitive and impatient people, more susceptible
to stress and heart disease than their laidback ‘Type B’
companions.
Sydney Law School’s harsh assessment regime,
with its focus on the frequency and weighting of
examinations, only exacerbates the pressure law
students place on themselves. But it would be incorrect
to suggest that overhauling the assessment regime
would fix the problem. If an average law student at
USyd is neurotic and enterprising, then their stress
levels won’t necessarily fare better if an 80 per cent
closed exam is converted to two 40 per cent written
assignments.
But allocating more marks to other assessment
formats, like assignments or participation, at least
ensures that no single skill is prioritised, and that
students with skill sets beyond the traditional exam
focus can thrive. And including tests of oral ability, like
at WSU, would at least be more reflective of modern
law practice. Other law schools are making these
changes, so why not USyd?
In November, Sydney Law School’s Teaching and
Curriculum Committee (T&CC) will discuss the results
of the SULS survey, after which they have the choice
to adapt or adjust the curriculum based on students’
responses.
“SULS hopes T&CC will respond to the results to
ensure that students feel they are being heard and
that the Law School’s vision for 2019 is geared towards
improving their academic experience,” Gonzales said.
The bottom line in all of this is that law school is
hard. And Sydney Law School, an institution steeped in
tradition, from the portraits of judges in the Law Foyer
to the ancient hard copy law reports hoarded by our
library, should evaluate whether current assessment
formats really make the best modern lawyers.
Full data available at honisoit.com

Assessments, by type and by institution
Other
Participation
Quiz
Essay
Assignment
Exams

Macquarie

UNSW

USYD

-5-

UTS

WSU

ANALYSIS

What do you get if you cross a lecture and a tute?
Vaidehi Mahapatra investigates lectorials, the new learning format taking USyd by storm.
Lectorials are the latest craze taking USyd by storm.
Referred to as the ‘flipped classroom’ approach to
teaching, this lecture-tutorial hybrid method seeks to
build higher levels of student participation, interest
and, ultimately, achievement, by subverting the
traditional classroom model.
Lectorials were first used by the Royal Melbourne
Institute of Technology (RMIT) in 2010 to improve
student outcomes in STEM subjects. A typical lectorial
would begin with a lecturer providing an introduction
to new concepts, before students are directed to break
off into groups and apply this knowledge in problem
solving activities.
The RMIT website touts that by combining
the content delivery mode of a lecture with the
collaborative group-work of a tutorial, lectorials
“improve opportunities for student engagement in
large classes”, offering “the best of both worlds!” But
when this model is exported to other disciplines
such as arts and social sciences, where learning is
perhaps more oriented towards research and critical
discussion, its ability to provide effective outcomes is
thrown into question.
Dirk Moses, professor of modern history at USyd,
conducted an experiment on this very question in
2017. He took international studies unit INGS1002 and
delivered a two hour-long lectorial to 274 students in
ABS Lecture Theatre 1110. Predictably, he immediately
encountered challenges regarding space and scale;
namely, how to emulate the intimacy and structure of
a tutorial in a lecture theatre designed to house entire
cohorts.
Student feedback acknowledged the rationale

behind lectorials but highlighted several flaws in their
implementation. Recurring issues in the feedback were
the tendency for discussion pods to deteriorate into
unproductive social conversations in the absence of
explicit academic direction; discussions in lectures were
often reduced to recycled insights and mere opinionspruiking, and the potential to deter participation by
introverted students or those experiencing language
difficulties.

Student feedback reveals
that much of the success of
this teaching format relies on
students taking the initiative
to come to class
Despite these criticisms, in an end-of-semester
survey designed by Moses, a slim majority of 55 per
cent of students strongly agreed or agreed that they
preferred lectorials to traditional lectures, compared
to 31 per cent who disagreed or strongly disagreed.
Moses remains positive about the role of lectorials
in FASS, and continued refining the format through
semester 1 and 2 of this year in INGS1003 and INGS1004.
In light of last year’s feedback, improvements were
made to the program: smaller teaching spaces were
used to isolate breakout groups, additional teaching
staff were on hand to provide support to these pods,
and the number of students in any one lectorial was
reduced to 147.

“Scale matters,” says Moses, who recognises that
the main hurdle he encountered was the struggle to
“break [large cohort-wide lectures] down into smaller
face-to-face communities”. He stresses the need for
the diversity to provide adequate teaching spaces
and resources to support a turn towards interactive
learning.
Student feedback reveals that much of the success
of this teaching format relies on students taking the
initiative to come to class, having done their readings,
prepared to share, defend and develop their insights.
Not doing so results in a “bland discussion” that does
little to give students their money’s worth. Lectorials
may be better suited to senior units where students
possess the motivation and critical capacity to
sustain primarily peer-led discussion But even there,
success hinges largely on classes where students feel
comfortable sharing personal views and criticisms.
If lectorials are ever to become a feasible universal
model, decisions must be made about how to tailor
them to each faculty. Direct exportation of the lectorial
teaching model, without incorporating necessary
changes, has been met with strong dissatisfaction
from a large number of students who don’t feel as
though their academic needs are being met. For all the
“Unlearn: classroom” posters plastered across Eastern
Avenue, the University needs to support pedagogical
shifts like lectorials through genuine action.
As one student survey response put it, “collaborative
learning en masse can quickly turn into a muddle of
mixed opinions”. So the question remains—can we ever
wade through this muddle, towards true educational
reform?

How scientists speak
Statistics can sound sexy, according to Lena Wang.
The homepage of the Australian Vaccination-risks
Network is bright and colourful. The header is a stock
photo of a smiling heterosexual couple with their baby.
But a few clicks away, the website loudly proclaims:
“Anyone who thinks that the vaccine-autism link
began and ended … needs to do more research.”
The anti-vaxxer movement is founded on ableist
pseudoscience, and there is a lot of scientific research
disproving it. But there is resistance to this proof, a
symptom of the same pro-individualist, reactionary
politics as climate denialism. The AVN is right to call
for doing your research, but there are three significant
barriers to understanding refutations of anti-vaxxers’
claims.
The first is that this type of research is not always
accessible: misinformation is rife. The second is false
equivalence. The fact that there are equal amounts
of discussion on either side falls into the same trap
as centrist discourse—it suggests that the two sides
deserve equal consideration.
But a carefully set-up and peer-reviewed experiment
is not on par with fevered new age ranting. The third
problem is one of human instinct—we’re emotional
creatures.
The safety of vaccines, backed up by technically
complex statistics on the bioavailability of aluminium
salts, doesn’t conjure up the same visceral, primal
response as ‘our children are in danger because of the
government!’
Skepticism is important; it helps us hold government
to account. But in a context where skepticism is
uninformed and unfounded, science must work to
communicate the facts to us. That’s where science
writing comes in.
Jane McCredie is the CEO of Writing NSW and has
been directing its science writing event, Quantum

Words, for the last two years. “I think in times when
evidence and expertise are often under attack in the
public sphere, it’s really important that we have quality
writing about science and evidence to help inform
public discussion and debate,” she tells me.
To serve this function, science writing needs to be
accessible. A prank that resurfaces every few years
warns the public about the “dihydrogen monoxide”
in our drinks, only to reveal that this scary-sounding
chemical compound is actually water. But this
punishes people’s lack of literacy, failing to empathise
with people who have been fucked over by a shitty
educational curriculum.
Scientific writing, then, does need to concede to
populist rhetoric. McCredie agrees that it can’t all be
cold, hard statistics.
“I think it’s very important that quality information
and evidence is being put in front of people. But we
also know that … we’re the kind of animal that responds
very well to story,” she says. “I think there are ways to
tell human stories while still being committed to fact.”
Perhaps more than any other type of writing, science
writing is characterised by the tension between fact
and fiction: between abstractions on the one hand,
designed to take science away from political realities
and into the romantic; and real-world grounding on the
other, where science is located in the grit of current
goings on.
As McCredie says, “You’ve got to keep very clear in
your mind what the difference is between stories and
evidence.”
Carl Sagan’s introduction to his book Pale Blue Dot
made me cry the first time I read it.
“Look again at that dot … The aggregate of our
joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions,
ideologies, and economic doctrines … every ‘superstar’,

-6-

every ‘supreme leader’, every saint and sinner in the
history of our species lived there—on a mote of dust
suspended in a sunbeam,” he writes.
But Sagan’s call for human unity and kindness
reads a little naive when, for instance, the Australian
government is knowingly torturing refugees in offshore
detention centres. Like all writing, science pieces must
be read in context. Writing on climate change or data
security may necessarily be less poetic than Sagan’s
introduction.
Science writing is often accused of being dry—overly
data-driven and statistical. However, statistics don’t
necessarily spoil the romance of good communication.
Stats are involved in any analysis article, and don’t
necessarily tie that article to dryness. “There is no
such thing as a boring topic. There are boring writers,”
McCredie says.
And science writing is only a small piece of the
puzzle. Education is critical to fostering the scientific
literacy the government champions, but so rarely acts
upon (stop using coal you fuckers).
A curriculum that “makes a narrative of science”
could encourage students to engage with the emotive
aspect of science from an earlier age. This could boost
interest in the technical facets of science later on. As
McCredie notes, “It’s not just about getting people into
STEM pipeline, it’s also about having a population that
is more generally engaged with science.
“If people even have a basic understanding of the
scientific method they’re not going to fall for the antivaccine stuff.”
Quantum Words is taking place on Saturday November
3, 2018 at Callan Park.

Just in time
ART / JULIETTE AMIES
Drawing by Jess Zlotnick

Lino Art by Millie Roberts

PERSPECTIVE

All genders lose out under Parental Leave Scheme
Australia’s paternity leave policies discriminate against men, writes Emelie Watkins, and there are consequences for everyone.
Australia has one of the least generous
Paid Parental Leave systems in the
world. In heterosexual relationships ,
only 2 per cent of Australian men take
parental leave, as social expectations
confine women to unpaid labour in the
home, and hypermasculine tropes see
men as secondary carers. Most new
fathers decide to take only two weeks
off. And women who try to juggle caring
for children with a career risk being
fired.
A simple change that would split
responsibility evenly between both
parents is Shared Parental Leave.
Aussie Dads, a photography exhibition
by Swedish Johan Bävman, is currently
touring Australia. The 20 intimate
photographs of Australian fathers on
extended parental leave with their
children were publicly displayed outside
the Sydney Opera House. Viewers were
left to consider the paternity leave
policies of our country.
Sweden was the first country in the
world to replace ‘maternity leave’ with
‘parental leave’ in 1974. Over 40 years
later Australia is still experimenting
with Maternity Leave, Dad and Partner
Pay and primary and secondary carer
labels. All Swedish parents receive 480
days of paid leave per child to be shared
between parents as they wish, with 390
days paid at approximately 80 per cent
of the salary. 90 days are reserved for the
father, compared to 14 days in Australia.
Dr Marian Baird, Professor of Gender
and Employment Relations at USyd,
believes “paternity leave in Australia is
almost a token policy”. She explains that
stigmas in the workplace contribute to
the failure of paternity leave, saying “we
still have a very strong sense of a female
homemaker and carer, and a male
breadwinner and worker”.
Parents At Work is Australia’s
leading supporter of working parents,
and designs best practice gender
balanced parental leave policies. CEO
Emma Walsh says the exhibition was
deliberately intended “to start a national
conversation”.
“At the moment, we’ve got primary and
secondary caring, and that inadvertently
suggests that in every household there is
a primary carer and a secondary carer”.
The gender pay gap, in combination
with the physical strains mothers feel
in post-childbirth recovery, mean that
it is impractical for fathers to take time
off work. This perpetuates the cycle of
women inhabiting unpaid work in the
domestic sphere, while normalising men
in the workforce, and thus the gender
pay gap. It perpetuates the expectations
for women to take maternity leave and
employers’ justifications for stagnating
their career prospects.
For
32-year-old
David
Brain,
expecting his first child this year,
paternity leave is limited. He is able to
take two weeks of unpaid leave and says
that although there is a “more even view
of parental responsibilities than there
was with my parent’s generation, it
certainly isn’t an even split”.

Research
consistently
shows
enormous benefits of paternity leave
and men wanting to take it up. Brain
undoubtedly hopes for “close bonding
with his son in the critical early
years”. Research by the Human Rights
Commission (2014) showed three in
four fathers would have liked to take
additional leave, but either couldn’t
afford it, didn’t know it was possible, had
no access to annual leave entitlements,
or thought it wouldn’t be granted.

All Swedish parents
receive 480 days of
paid leave per child,
to be shared between
parents
The
Aussie
Dads
exhibition
showcased fathers crafting strong
emotional relationships with their
children, and as research proves, fathers
who are involved in caring for a child
in the early years are highly likely to
continue that engagement throughout a
child’s lifetime.
Reflecting on the benefits, Walsh says
Australian companies need to ask, “How
easy do we make it for fathers to get
involved?”
Taking USyd’s parental leave policies
as an example, the mechanisms that
push men to take on child-rearing roles
are often absent. USyd offers ‘Paid
Short Partner Leave’, at five paid days,
while Paid Maternity Leave is offered
either on a pro-rata basis, or offers 14
weeks paid leave. This system is typical
for Australian businesses.
But it’s also our spaces and lives
entrench the expectations that women
should care for children.. In the Jane
Foss Russell Building for example, only
the female bathrooms double as baby
change rooms.
“By having Dad and Partner Pay,
and making it 2 weeks, it suggests that
dads should just take 2 weeks off. I
know that wasn’t the intention, but it’s
an unintended consequence of what
was intended to be a good policy”, says
Walsh.
Policy can be amended overnight, but
it can take years for culture and norms
to see significant change. Walsh’s advice
is for employers to get into the habit
of asking fathers not “if” but “when are
you taking parental leave”. This creates
the expectation that the father will take
leave, and the expectation that their
company will support them. “It’s subtle,
but very meaningful. It’s things like that
that will help to normalise father’s caring
role in society,” urges Walsh.
To achieve gender equality, it is
urgent for USyd, and Australia, to rethink
its approach toward Paid Parental Leave.
When you look at the effects in the home
and the workplace, it becomes clear that
it’s time to stop overlooking men in the
realm of parenting, and time for women’s
careers to stop being penalised.

-8-

Image Credit: Aussie Dads Exhibition

PERSPECTIVE

Final countdown: The race to submit your essay
Laura de Feyter and Sasha McCarthy said it would never happen again.
It’s 11:57 pm, and here you are again.
Beads of sweat drip from your forehead, breathing shallow and frantic, fingers shaking as you add more crap to your latest word vomit. Your conscience is yelling at you,
making you question every drunken night out and lazy Netflix arvo that led to this moment.
11:58 pm.
You open Canvas and think up a fluffy, pretentious title for your essay. You can see the seconds ticking away, every pixel flicker inching closer to that dreaded number...
11:59 pm.
It’s in.
We’ve all been there—misread due dates, technical failures or, honestly, questionable life choices. Every USyd student has a crazy last minute submission story. Here are
some award-winning accounts.

No time like the present : Em
Em is no stranger to assessment
submission drama.
In her first semester of university,
she boldly asked her unit coordinator
for a simple extension on her Media and
Communications essay, a mere hour
before the deadline. Unsurprisingly, her
request was rejected.
Since then her tactics have become
much more sophisticated.
One afternoon, she was unassumingly
sitting in an English tutorial when her
tutor hit her with, “Em, are you ready to
present now?”
It had completely slipped her mind.
Instead of admitting defeat, she
proudly announced;
“No, you must have it wrong, I’m
definitely presenting next week…”
Well played, Em.

Divorce drama: Lana

Sodden situations: Sarah

The midnight deadline was fast approaching, when Lana faced the reality
that she “physically couldn’t” get her assignment in on time.
Her immediate reflex was to fire off
some frantic emails to her coordinator,
explaining that she was experiencing
some “technical difficulties”.
But in case her coordinator didn’t buy
that story, she added a part 2…
“[I] went so far as to make up that my
parents were divorced and at 12:45am I
was venturing to my ‘Dad’s house’ to ‘try
using his computer’”.
The mission was a success, and Lana
submitted her assignment later that
evening.

Sarah was merrily finishing off an
engineering assignment in Fisher
Library, which she had to submit as
a hard copy to the Civil Engineering
Building by 5pm. As she was adding some
final touches, she checked the time…
“4:50pm?!??”
She bolted immediately skidded out
of the library to embark on what should
be at least a 15 minute journey.
To add to the drama, the heavens had
opened, and it started pissing down on
Sarah and her assignment—.pathetic
fallacy at its finest (yes, I did Year 10
English).
By some miracle, she made it just in
time, flinging a sopping wet report at
her concerned-looking tutor.

Suspicious slide selections: Laura de
Feyter
Laura discovered what a meme the
Sociology department is while carefully
constructing a powerpoint to present
that same day.
She gave herself just enough time,
completing all 10 shoddy slides on the
train to class.
Arriving there, the last remnants of
her confidence began to seep away: “I
stared at the class, and realised I had
absolutely no idea what I was talking
about.”
“But you know what? Those slides
saved the day.”
The slide show included artistic coups
de grace like an Old Spice commercial
intended to demonstrate the power
of capitalism. But Laura’s teacher was
enthralled by her “interesting” selection
of images and spent the next 30
minutes trying to interpret their deep
significance.
Unfortunately, Laura “couldn’t tell
him it was because they were the first
hits for ‘ad’ on Google images.”

Diligently delaying deadlines: Suzi
Suzi made a tried and true error.
You see your assignment is not due
for x amount of time, laugh to yourself
as the tutor reminds you to get started
ASAP because “it’s your thesis” or
something, then find yourself seated in
exactly the same position with no words
on the page right before it is due.
Suzi explains that she was “rewriting
it the night before, to the point that I did
not sleep that entire night”.
When it finally came to printing
and binding her thesis, Officeworks
was closed and she was forced to find
another option.
“We found one and it legit ripped us
off but we printed so that’s ok.”
Suzi and her family then raced to
USyd to submit the thesis, a whole 12
minutes before the 4pm deadline, while
her Dad was posting live Facebook
updates of the saga.

Smuggle street: Alison

Simple slip-ups: Liana

Elegantly exporting: Wendy

Liana did what many of us have done
before.
She knew there was no way she would
be submitting her take-home exam on
time, and went straight to our favourite
lifeline—the simple extension.
This take-home had two components,
a quiz and an essay. But when Liana sat
down to smash out the timed quiz, it
was “no longer available”.
Panic engulfed her, as she frantically
refreshed the page and emailed her unit
coordinator.
A while later, the coordinator emailed
back with some tragic news…
“Liana, the simple extension only
applied to the essay component of the
take home exam.”
It was then that Liana realised she
had made a huge mistake.

A classic mistake for media students is
underestimating the time it will take to
export a project.
Wendy says she started exporting
a documentary due at 4pm at 3:50pm,
only to see it stop loading at 4:05pm.
But it is the events that followed
which are truly heartbreaking.
She proceeded to “carefully eject [the
USB] then rip it out of the computer,”
she explains.
“We run down six flights of stairs to
the basement, burst into the classroom,
me screaming as I take a knee and offer
our USB open-palmed in the middle of
the seminar room.’”
To Wendy’s relief, or perhaps chagrin,
she was appalled to hear the tutor’s
response.
“No I’ll collect at 4:20.”

-9-

Alison, a MECO/law student, was
in the middle of a Euro trip, when a
pesky assignment reared its head. The
deadline, long ignored, was that very
afternoon. Trouble was, Alison had a
full day of sightseeing planned, and was
catching a flight back to London that
evening.
“I wrote my essay from the top bunk
of a Copenhagen hostel room.” After
doing the timezone calculations, Alison
figured she had time to go sightseeing,
and would finish her bibliography at the
airport.
That’s where things started to go sour.
Her bag had barely cleared through the
x-ray machine, when an airport official
stopped her. “The security guard who
insisted I had something in my bag,
when I was sure there was nothing and
this was a waste of my valuable time.”
WIth the clock ticking down, Alison
started arguing with the guard. But
then she realised: “ I’d forgotten to take
my toothpaste out.” She gave up on
personal hygiene, binned her toothpaste
and ran to the boarding gate—where
she managed to submit on time.

JUST IN TIME

I miss this moment already
Liam Donohoe deconstructs premature nostalgia.
Looking back on the year so far, I can’t help but feel
I’ve been buoying through one long week. Though
the days brought with them new moments to call the
‘present’, each one of these ‘presents’ seemed to pass by
unnoticed, without significant indulgence. But despite
lacking any clear demarcation along the timeline, this
week-like year has nonetheless yielded moments I will
expect to look back on with deep nostalgia. I recently
realised this is no coincidence.
I know I am not the only one who feels this way.
Many relate to feeling as if their attention sits outside
‘the present’, especially among those experiencing the
now all-too-cliche quarter-life crisis. But one specific
form of the malaise these existentialists might have a
more personal acquaintance with is what I’d like to dub
‘pre-nostalgia’.
It is natural to look to the future with a sense of
anticipation. We would be far less human if we didn’t
get excited every once and a while. But there’s a
regrettable point where our constant thinking about
the future comes at the expense of what makes the
present valuable.
Pre-nostalgia is distinct from general anxiety,
though. It involves imagining a future iteration of
ourselves looking back on the moment we are currently
experiencing and deriving value from that imagined
recollection. We appreciate the present moment not
because of the value it offers as we experience it, but
because of the value it’ll offer that future iteration
when they recall it. We perceive that the moment is
significant enough to be something we’re likely to
recall fondly, and so appreciate that we’re gifting a
future version of ourselves a story or experience they’ll
yearningly replay. In short, we are struck by early
onset nostalgia, experiencing the present on behalf of

a future self.
But pre-nostalgia doesn’t just involve experiencing
the present as a contour without detail. It is also a
state where instead of experiencing our best days we
instead believe that we are experiencing our best days.
As the moments pass by, blunted, we can come to feel
powerless, not only because the present evades notice,
but also because we experience the present from the
third-person, as a detached biographer outside our
timeline, imposing backwards-facing satisfaction.

We look to the past in order to
excuse us from authenticity
The happiness we experience here is a sort of metahappiness, where we are pleased to have acted out a
scene worthy of nostalgia, rather than experiencing
happiness because of the act alone.
In an institution designed to lay down the tracks
that locomote us to the future, rushing to the terminal
threatens to blur the views we get as we bump over the
sleepers on the way.
In a capitalist society constantly stressing the
importance of jobs and stable fortunes, youth are
bound to worry about the future often enough to have
a clouded experience of the present. But what makes
pre-nostalgia so pernicious is that it leaks into the
experiences we find most valuable. Where we should
be experiencing something sublime or euphoric, we
find that in place of being relieved from our self, we
are instead further imprisoned by a distant perversion
of it.
Experiencing the world in this alien way makes
us feel like passive bystanders pining to become a

superior future version of ourselves. Paradoxically,
this brings those future versions closer—time that
goes unnoticed is time that seems to move faster. But
beyond a mere passive ennui, we start to worry that
we’re not experiencing the moment correctly. Perhaps
in some cases we inflate the experience so it reaches
the importance it was pre-assigned. Perhaps in others
we worry that good moments are being inflated in
that very way. Whatever the case, pre-nostalgia can’t
help but shake the cage of our existential insecurity,
bringing the end closer to view by making us overly
concerned with the amorphous future it belongs to.
But if pre-nostalgia can reveal a hyper awareness of
the future, it can also reflect an obsession with the past.
We all unconsciously inherit then conform to patterns
embedded by our history, realising eventually that our
actions are but tiles in a great mosaic of predictability.
Too concerned with this past to process the present
as valuable in itself, and too insecure to admit we’re
letting the moment slip, we look to the past in order
to excuse us from authenticity. We feel our life as it’s
nostalgia, before we are temporally entitled to do so.
Pre-nostalgia is by no means the only phenomenon
of its kind. In fact, just as a guitar rig runs through an
effects pedal, so too does our experience of moments
run through a filter of self-awareness and desire.
Trapped within this feedback loop, we then fail to have
the very experiences worthy of nostalgic preservation.
Despite all this, I still find myself experiencing
things in my life vicariously, on behalf of a future, more
perfect iteration of myself I know I will never grow
into. Perhaps I will never be able to look back on my life
with any sense of admiration. Perhaps I will never be
able to enjoy unmediated experiences. Whatever the
case, I long to be rid of longing.

I’d rather be late than just in time
Alan Zheng will be there in ten.
Like countless others, I’m a serial latecomer. Unlike
many however, I’m proud of it. On Wednesday
mornings, I stride into my 9AM lecture, late, equipped
with whatever caffeinated beverage made me late;
spurred on by the lecturer’s disapproving gaze. This
routine is like clockwork, but underneath the repeated
flustered entries is my subtle rebellion against modern
society’s almost ritualistic fixation on time. Amongst
friends, I’m consistently and predictably the last to
arrive to any gathering. Lateness carries with it a heap
of disparaging baggage. Dilatory folk are denigrated,
diagnosed with tardiness and the sin of sloth.
Like Lewis Carroll’s famous White Rabbit, latecomers
are seen as fidgety and panicked, paradigms of selfcentred thinking. Punctuality, on the other hand, is
consistently framed in terms ranging from the heroism
of last-minute rescues in movies to the revered
timeliness of the Tokyo Metro. Although punctuality
in our public institutions is definitely laudable,
beneath this dichotomy is a narrative which clothes
late individuals with irrationality, negligence and
selfishness. But this narrativisation is hardly consistent
with the day-to-day reality of young people and
students faced with inflexible deadlines and stubborn
commitments, which leave no freedom to privilege the
things that matter to us.
In TS Eliot’s 1910 poem ‘Preludes’, he sketches a
morose picture of a society dictated by time, portraying
“short square fingers stuffing pipes” at “four and five
and six o’clock.” It’s difficult to not see the connection to
student lives, centred around timetables and pulled in
multiple directions by the conflicting desires of sleep,

social lives and success. Being late is an act of individual
protest, a deliberate and radical commitment to selfcare when it is needed most. Last year, after taking a
break from social media, I found myself arriving late
to many events. The constant demands of our 24/7
social media lifestyle actually make being timely harder
to achieve. As a practical work-life balance becomes
increasingly elusive, tolerating lateness is merely
another means of affording flexibility.
Lateness is also a symptom of our complicated
lives, the consequence of one snooze too many
on early mornings or a chance encounter with

I’m a serial latecomer
an old friend turning into an impromptu
detailed catch-up. In modern supply chain
management, ‘Just-In-Time’ or JIT is a
principle which seeks to cut costs and
wastage by promoting the production or
delivery of finished goods ‘just in time’ to
be sold. Lean production reigns supreme in
the commercial world.
But a rigid and blind adherence to JIT has
clearly transcended the commercial world
into the social, constructing a business-cumsociety where individuals are habitual packages
on a mechanised supply chain which traverses
work, uni and home. But unlike JIT, the clutter and
wastage in a business supply chain has no parallel
with relationships, passions and self-care. All too

- 10 -

often, a faultless adherence to punctuality discards
more diverse, flexible and proactive uses of our time.
Perhaps we ought to recall that although Peter Parker
was consistently late in the Spiderman universe, it was
ultimately because he was juggling all of his obligations.
Like the masked menace, it’s okay if we’re late too.

The University is still killing our planet
LAMYA RAHMAN & ANDREW RICKERT

The world is in a climate crisis, the scope of which still escapes the majority of the population. This includes our decision-makers,
who continue to invest in fossil fuels and high-emission companies, searching for profit rather than a future for our planet. It may
seem like hyperbole, but it’s also startling: USyd’s emissions, per student, are comparable on a national scale.
1. USYD PRODUCES MORE CO2 EQIVALENT EMISSIONS PER CAPITY PER YEAR THAN NATION STATES
UNITED KINGDOM

USYD

CHINA

6.50

7.17

7.54

AUSTRIA

IRELAND

6.87

7.31

2. USYD INVESTS IN

3

OF AUSTRALIA’S TOP TEN POLLUTERS IN 2016-2017, PLUS
OF THE WORLD’S TOP 100 POLLUTERS OVER THE PAST 20 YEARS.

AGL
BHP

ORIGIN
RIO TINTO

WOODSIDE
CNOOC

IN TOTAL, USYD IS RESPONSIBLE FOR

423,868

TONNES OF CO2-EQUIVALENT EMISSIONS PER YEAR,
OR 7.17 TONNES PER STUDENT PER YEAR
THE SAME AMOUNT OF EMISSIONS IN A YEAR AS
HOMES POWERED

CARS DRIVEN

USyd has to report its emissions data each year.
This includes ‘scope 1’ emissions, which is anything
directly released into the envrionment by USyd, as
well as ‘scope 2’, which accounts for the emissions
involved in USy’d energy use.
We have also included USyd’s stakeholdings in the
three of Australia’s top ten polluters that they invest
and three from the world’s top 100.
Own the company, own the emissions, we figure.

90,763

45,769

ABSOLUTE EMISSIONS

3. USYD TRADES PROFITABLE INVESTMENTS FOR HIGH EMISSIONS

USYD
EMERGING MARKET
INVESTMENTS

USYD AVERAGE

USYD
INTERNATIONAL
INVESTMENTS

USyd mandates that their portfolio’s
emissions must be kept low for
environmental reasons: 20 per cent
below a composite benchmark of all the
markets they invest in. Not surprisingly,
they achieve their own metric, just
scraping under the 20 per cent
benchmark.
In fact, as their 2017 data shows, they
are far below the benchmarks in both
Australian and International markets.
However, it appears that the Univeristy
uses these low emissions locally to
balance out their investment in highpolluting emerging markets, and their
total responsibility is likely far higher.

USYD
AUSTRALIAN
INVESTMENTS

EMISSIONS PER DOLLAR REVENUE

USyd’s invesment portfolio is massive,
and so their equivalent emissions are
far higher than what we can confirm
numerically.

-11 -

FEATURE

BRING BACK

BULL
WORDS / ALISON XIAO

In 2014, I was as keen a first year as they come. At the end of semester
1, after settling into campus life, I wrote a list of goals for my time
at Sydney Uni—an array of activities I thought would enhance my
experience, help me make friends, and mitigate the inevitable regret
I’d feel after a six year degree.
One of these goals was to become an editor of BULL magazine. It’s a
goal I’ll never achieve.
***
USyd’s campus media is nowhere near dead. Honi is still kicking, strong
as ever. SURG has seen a resurgence of popularity in the past few
years. PULP, though still in its infancy, has run investigations that have
won nationwide attention. Hermes, the University of Sydney Union’s
literary magazine, is the oldest journal in Australia. It competes with
Arna, an annual literary journal published by the Arts Society. Before
ceasing print publication in late 2015, Mon Droit also gave a voice to
conservative writers, who felt alienated by mainstream campus outlets.
Many other universities have seen their student media outlets shrink
since the introduction of Voluntary Student Unionism in 2006. Some
have detected a theme here: as with the mainstream media, it’s print
publications that have suffered the most. Flinders University’s Empire
Times closed in 2006, only to be replaced by newcomer Libertine in
2008, which itself died in 2011. In 2013, Empire Times made a comeback
and remains on stands. At the beginning of the year, UNSW’s print
magazine, Blitz, quietly announced that it would be ending print
publication.
It’s been three years since BULL was shut down by its publisher, the
USU. Students who began university after 2015 have probably never
heard of the magazine, let alone picked up a copy. So what was all the
fuss about?
BULL was a creative monthly magazine, launched in 2006 in its
modern form. It was printed eight times a year, with six student editors
and a USU design team, and was best known for photojournalism and
longform features, which suited its long production cycle. There was
full page photography and artwork, printed in colour, first on glossy
paper and then, from 2015 onwards, on matte paper. The magazine
featured regular sections, from ‘The Time I Tried’, to ‘Shutter Up’, to
‘Udder Bullshit’.
“It was always focused on feature articles and evergreen stuff,” says
Mary Ward, who edited BULL in 2015, its final year.
“It was print campus media for people who didn’t care about campus
politics.”
For that reason, BULL was often seen as the
more accessible version of its SRC counterpart,
Honi Soit—now USyd’s only regular, student-run
print publication—a publication described by a
former BULL editor in Hijacked as “beholden to
egos, cliques, politics and editorial snobbery”.
Ward, who is now a lifestyle reporter at the Sydney Morning Herald,
remembers visiting the BULL stall at her first OWeek in 2012. The
magazine was her first foray into student media, and she says that, at
the time, it was “definitely better promoted [than Honi]”.
It certainly makes sense—the USU has more funding than the SRC
and operates more as a business than a union. So it had the tools and
the incentives to market BULL aggressively.
But this commercial mindset also means the USU thinks in terms
of profit and loss. And BULL fell on the expenses side of the ledger:
according to the USU’s Director of Marketing and Infrastructure,
Alistair Cowie, it cost over $10,000 to produce annually.
And yet BULL’s circulation was dwindling. Eventually, the USU

ART / AVIVA GREEN

decided they couldn’t justify the outlay. BULL’s print cycle was slow;
it had no immediacy, and struggled to keep up with the fast pace of
culture in the internet age.
So, just like that, without student consultation, BULL was put out to
pasture. The USU Board voted in camera—that is, in a secret session—
to end publication.
Soon after, the USU gave up the licence to BULL’s domain name,
meaning most of the magazine’s online content is now inaccessible.
Some issues have been published on the print hosting website Issuu,
but only editions from 2011 to 2015 have been uploaded. The library
carries issues from 2009, but four years of BULL’s history have been
lost.
***
In 1978, Alistair Cowie was a first year at the University of Sydney. He
had three print publications to choose from. Cowie says he read them
all.
The Union Recorder was Sydney University’s first news publication
edited by students. Dating back to 1921, the publication preceded
Honi Soit, which first hit the stands in 1929. The Recorder chronicled
decades of student life, and was put together by three student editors.
It fluctuated between weekly and fortnightly print cycles.
There was also The Daily Bull, short for the daily bulletin, an A4
newsletter advertising the events and services provided by the USU.
“It showed you what was happening today, listed what was on special
in the bistro, what happened at Manning at lunchtime, what club and
society meetings were scheduled,” he says. “And it always had a joke of
day.”
And of course, Cowie would devotedly pick up a copy of yours
truly.
Later, in 1987, the Union would introduce its bi-weekly Union
Eyes publication, which only lasted for two years. In this era,
colleges were putting out publications, literary journals flourished
and individual clubs had their own print newsletters.
Then, in 2006, came VSU. The SRC, the USU, and its clubs and
societies lost millions of dollars of funding. The Union Recorder was
remade as a short-lived annual, and the USU’s sole and flagship
publication became a monthly magazine: The Bull. With fewer pages
and lower quality paper stock, it was a less expensive publication than
The Union Recorder.
“Then it grew again and became the BULL we knew until a few years
ago,” Cowie says.
It’s easy to wax nostalgic about the days
before VSU and the personal computer. The
truth is, much of the content that was once in
print still exists: it has simply migrated online,
where the kind of daily updates published by
the The Daily Bull now find a home on Facebook
pages or USU press releases.
Though Cowie says he loved BULL, he is positive about evolution
and change. “It’s important to not keep something just because it’s
been there for a long time. If it’s not working, look for some other way.”
In 2018, Honi Soit is the sole independent student-edited news
publication on campus.
***

BULL was often seen
as the more accessible
version of Honi Soit

The USU signed BULL’s death warrant, making the decision to, in
Cowie’s words, “go where people are, which is mainly online”. Enter
PULP, an exclusively digital platform, notorious for its gif-laden,
Buzzfeed-style listicles.

FEATURE
In its first two years, PULP was edited by two students in salaried positions. This
year, three editors were hired and managed a group of 87 contributors.
The 2019 editors will each be paid $12,333 ($43,334 per annum, pro rata, on the
basis of 14-hour weeks during semester), compared to the $3,000 honorarium BULL
paid to each of its six editors. Next year will also see the USU set out formal KPIs for
its editors, instead of the traditional “expectations”.
This year, PULP scored its very own website; previously, it was just a tab on
the USU’s homepage. But a glance at the traction of its Facebook page shows
engagement is still low, with articles rarely breaking more than ten likes. There are
some big exceptions, though: the article announcing the 2019 PULP editors received
almost 100. This points to PULP’s status as the darling of the MeCo and stupol social
scene—and little else.
This insularity is understandable: rather than walking around campus and picking
up a copy from stands, the new outlet requires people to seek out the Facebook
page, or be friends with enough people who engage with PULP’s content. As Ward
puts it: “[BULL] was inherently less cliquey because it was print media.”
One of BULL’s greatest strengths was the voice it gave to writers who had no
interest in the stupol world of Honi. PULP has stuck with this mission for accessibility:
it has introduced weekly face-to-face pitch meetings, where reporters bounce ideas
off one another and flesh them out with the editors.
Similarly, PULP has been able to attract new contributors with cold hard cash.
As Cowie explains, “We pay contributors a small sum to thank them for their work.”
Writers receive $10 for a regular article and around $20 for breaking news.
Content wise, it’s clear the USU hopes PULP can cover much the same ground
as its predecessor. USU President Liliana Tai says she hopes the publication “is able
to provide students with information about student and USU activity on campus,
provide political news as well as pop culture analysis, and publish opinions from a
diverse range of student experiences.”
But it would be wrong to presume that PULP is simply BULL
transplanted onto a website. When the medium changed, so did
the range of possibilities for content and packaging. There’s no
clearer example than PULP’s focus on video content. Tai has
championed the move to multimedia programming, and in
2019, one of the three editors will be dedicated solely to video
production.
In general, PULP hopes its contributors will receive a
taste of the work demanded by the modern media landscape.
Current PULP editor Noah Vaz says that the skills learnt from
managing an online publication have been invaluable—from
CMS management, to creating a website, to doing regular reporting on
readership statistics.
If PULP can sustain a commitment to
multimedia, it will be a first for USyd, where
digital content makers have consistently
struggled. That’s not for want of demand:
USyd Update, the University’s first student
video organisation, initially flourished,
publishing 80 videos at its peak, in 2016.
It was the fastest growing student media
outlet in the country, but once its original
leaders moved on, the organisation
collapsed.
Similarly, this year’s Honi editorial team
promised it would “stoke the fire of student media
with weekly videos [and] captivating podcasting
stories”. As it stands, Heat for Honi has published
eight non-election videos this year and zero
podcasts.
PULP hasn’t done much better. According to
Cowie, PULP’s 2018 editors agreed that one video
a week was a realistic target. The reality was one
video a month, ten over the year so far.
And where PULP has added different styles and
formats to the BULL model, it has also taken away. Much
of BULL was centred around illustrations, 2015 BULL
editor, Tom Joyner, told me. “We had softer content
around campus culture, a lot more photography and
illustrations ... more of a visual component.” Take,
for example, Joyner’s photo essays on identical
twins and student housing, to name a few. PULP, in
contrast, last published student photography in 2016,
with a piece by Karen Lin on how to curate the perfect
Instagram feed. The 33 photographers and artists who
worked for BULL in 2015 have had scant role to play.
“PULP doesn’t have the same unique identity that has
grown out of [a decade],” Vaz says. “One of the goals and
challenges of both the USU and the PULP editorial team
will be actually finding out what that identity is—what
is going to make it distinct from other media.”
He says that identity doesn’t necessarily need to be
editorial content, but also could be visual style or the
way the publication markets itself and creates a brand.

“[For] other solely online news outlets such as Buzzfeed or Junkee, in their first years,
crafting an identity was a priority beyond just publishing content.”
Cowie says the outlet is still a “young beast” that still has the chance to reinvent
itself from year to year, unlike its more established peers. “Honi changes culture
every year too,” he explains, “but there’s a long history there.”
“The [Honi] ship has sailed in the same direction but has veered side to side,” he
says, while PULP is still setting its course.
***
As much as PULP is defined by its predecessor, BULL also shaped its competitor:
Honi.
The two publications played vastly different roles, each more or less sticking to
its lane—BULL with its considered, slow journalism, Honi with its fast, weekly print
cycle. Where BULL was pop-culture oriented (my first print article was a BULL piece
about television bloodbaths), Honi held University institutions to account and had
its finger on the pulse of student politics.
But the dichotomy wasn’t always this clear. Former USU Vice President Rhys
Pogonoski, who began uni in 2008 and spent eight years at the University of Sydney,
still calls the magazine ‘The Bull’, although the name was shortened during his time
on USU Board in the early 10s. He says The Bull attempted to embrace the news
cycle in its early days, challenging Honi at its own game.
In those days, before The Bull became “irrelevant”, Honi would “slag on The Bull a
lot”. He says the USU’s publication worried Honi, which cared enough about The Bull
to make fun of them from time to time.
But the overall effect was positive. Pogonoski thinks Honi had more to be
accountable to when The Bull was around. “If Honi had fallen off the rails ... I think
The Bull would’ve picked up the slack and challenged it as a publication to be valued
on campus.”
BULL also gave Honi an incentive to be different—
something to react against. Pogonoski says he saw Honi
take on more of an activist role over his time on campus,
pushing an agenda and promoting “political viewpoints in
the interest of [the editors].” It’s possible this radicalisation
began as something to mark Honi out from its less political
competitor.
As The Bull grew into BULL, abandoning news reporting
for pop culture, Honi’s niche changed. It doubled down on
news. During the years where BULL and Honi co-existed,
the latter paper regularly had two or three or sometimes
even four news pages.
“Honi was more responsive to what was going on,” Pogonoski says, citing ‘09 to ‘11
as his favourite years of the paper. “[In those years] it was biting and it was edgy and
it was not answerable to anybody.”
But, once BULL was dead, the pressure was off: and in the last three years, Honi
has taken over some of the acreage once grazed by BULL. Photo essays, prose and
poetry, for example, have found a place in Honi. This year, Honi did not have a regular
news section, instead choosing to break news online. The paper was also printed in
full colour for the first time, and emphasised creative design elements in what was
once a sparse, monochrome layup.
With no print competitor, Honi has the freedom to straddle both worlds—
newspaper and magazine at once.
But for some, there are parts of BULL that Honi will never revive. Ward, who also
edited Honi in 2016, points to culture articles that Honi’s heavier tone would just not
accommodate. “We had a great group of women who would contribute really good
fashion commentary each month,” she remembers.
And for Joyner, Honi will always present higher barriers to entry. Though there
are sections of Honi that anyone can read and enjoy, much of the news, analysis and
even features, require an understanding of campus life. “You have to be a bit more
engaged in student affairs and that’s certainly not everyone on campus,” he says.
Having two print publications on the stands fostered a better campus culture, and
also reflected and promoted higher student engagement. “The more vibrance and
diversity in student voices on campus, the better,” as Joyner put it. As a microcosm
of the community at large, university is the perfect place for print media to thrive,
and it’s a shame that even a pop-culture magazine that offered tailored content to a
small, specific audience couldn’t survive.
***

In 1978, Alistair Cowie
was a first year at the
University of Sydney.
He had three print
publications to choose
from

It’s a fact of life that things change. USyd is different now; more and more students
are spending less and less time on campus thanks to a whole bunch of factors,
including a competitive, insecure job market and unaffordable rental prices in the
Inner West.
Unless free food is involved, those who are on campus often don’t have incentive
to participate in campus life. Manning Bar sits empty. Women’s Collective meetings,
which used to attract 60 odd people, can now barely crack a dozen. And there are
lower pick-up rates for student newspapers.
It’s a fact of life that things change, and it’s sad. A lot of students will never know
what it’s like for more than one student publication to sit on the stands.
But my hope is that the USyd community changes to not only support this old rag
but also a more diverse range of student media. There is still room for new outlets,
whether you want to restart USyd Update, kickstart a crime podcast, or create a
Mandarin news site. If it could happen anywhere, it’s here.

JUST IN TIME

Fake news at Fisher Library
Millie Roberts digs deep into allegations of pages missing from the Honi archives.
Librarians: ordinary citizens turned
hero, there to help borrowers in times
of need, finding items and answering
questions. But at USyd’s very own Fisher
Library, something fishy is going down.
On July 27 last year, an undergraduate
arts class was whisked along on an
excursion to the mysterious Rare Books
& Special Collections. The research and
preservation department, the Library’s
den of excitement, is located on Level
1 of Fisher, storing antique, unusual
or highly significant texts. It boasts a
collection of over 170,000 materials.
This particular presentation, which
began at 10:00am in the Rare Book
seminar room, was conducted by
one of the archival librarians before a
captivated audience of around 10-15
people. It was an overview the same
as any other: how to use requested
materials, the purpose and history of
Rare Books and some trivia about certain
items they hold—precious versions of
the Quran and Isaac Newtown’s earlier
works are sealed in a vault.
But our story concerns a publication
closer to campus. Rare Books houses the
Library’s archival copies of this student
rag, Honi Soit.
During the open question time,
one student asked about the ethical
issues encountered during the job. In
response, they were told something
very curious. In the past, people had
requested editions, specifically those
that
mentioned
or
unfavourably
commented on now-prominent Liberal
politicians. Using tools they had secretly
snuck in, the nefarious culprits cut
out whole articles, and graffitied over
names to redact them. No mention was
made of when this happened or who by,
on the day, nor did anyone probe for
more detail.
Even when told in passing, an
anecdote like this is hard to forget.
Rare Books is basically a monastery for
antique texts. All material requests are
viewed in a special reading space. Desks
are spaced out to prevent interaction
between borrowers, and strict rules are
enforced: hands must be clean, book
rests used and
only pencils
allowed
f o r
note-

taking

on separate paper. Rare Books says
they also have a “need for [their] staff
to supervise the use of these materials.”
Students or staff would have had to pull
off daring actions, bypassing the glass
panes separating the reading room from
the front desk, in order to execute their
revisionism of history.

Without details of the
alleged vandalism,
the culprits’ motives
remain unclear
Yet, if true, it is a grave injustice—
that damning stupol articles might
have been removed from the historical
record. Without the archives, we’d never
know that Turnbull smoked a joint after
a Debating meeting, Abbott punched
a hole in the wall in the SRC or former
Treasurer, Joe Hockey, was called “Judas
Hockey”—all during their time as USyd
undergraduates.
More concerning is the hefty
punishments these unidentified fiends
would have escaped. According to the
bible of librarial law and order, the
University of Sydney (Library) Rule 2011,
a user must not “misuse, damage or
destroy any library resource or library
property”. The repercussion would be
heavy: death. Just kidding. The realistic
outcome would be a fine, determinable
by the librarians, against the mutilating
borrower.
Honi’s archives have been preserved
in various ways: digitally since 2016, via
microfilm (collection numbers 079.9441
5 - 1929-1994) and in physical form
(collection number 378.944S R 21) stored
at Rare Books. But, without details of the
alleged vandalism, the culprits’ motives
and the editions targeted, remain
unclear. When asked for a fact-check, a
representative from Fisher Library said
that no one was available to talk.
Later, they told Honi the librarian
who presented the Rare Books seminar
had no memory of mentioning any
mutilations, and that the Library has “no
evidence of the removal of particular
issues and/or images from Honi”. They
did not accommodate Honi’s request to
chat in person.
But myths, especially those shared
between custodians of knowledge,
do not spring out from thin air. With
the Library denying the claims, Honi
conducted an investigation of our own.
Using the digital archive on the Library’s
site, we rummaged through
over 100 Honi editions from
the 60s to late 80s, to cover
the time of Howard
to Hockey. But
the
digital
archive returned
nothing
more
than smudged ink,
sticky taped folds and
meticulously written
accession numbers, in
an undeniably aged,

- 14 -

but otherwise pristine. collection.
Yet hard copies of the originals are
still stored in boxes, hidden from public
view. If some of these physical copies
were ruined by the folly of man, perhaps
only the pristine versions were selected
for the public, digitalised record, and
the real evidence suppressed forever in
cardboard.
The SRC’s own leather bound annuals
were also consulted, with further
examples of tampering and incision.
However, when cross-referenced online,
only ads for an optometrist in the 80s
who worked at Manning House were cut
out—like three times. Were the Liberal
stupol articles, like the advertisements
for Chris McMahon the eye guy, really
removed for permanent disposal? Or did
the culprits cut them out for their own,
personal, sick needs?

A
sizeable
portion
of
the
undergraduate class were asked about
what they remember about that fateful
day on July 27, and all of them distinctly
recalled the tale; unless a mass case
of the Mandela Effect has left them
delusional, something isn’t quite right.
It’s impossible to say whether the
anecdote was true, or a fun tidbit used
to entertain guests. Perhaps this is
all a huge coverup for a conspiracy, to
protect significant federal politicians
or deflect attention away from
an
uncharacteristically
careless,
unmonitored viewing session that left
archival material permanently ruined.
The Library’s silence censors the
vandalism. Their taciturnity is deafening.
This time around, some things will have
to remain ancient history.

He was asleep in the morning.
He had been asleep for a day.
As I climbed the stairs I knew by the
way that my stomach seemed to not
sit down
he would soon pack his world into one
last breath
and, inhaling deeply, let it go.
I had come and gone,
thinking I might meet him on his way
out.
That he might touch my shoulder as I
entered.
He had his mouth open.
I met his hollow yellow cheek and left.
Mother guided him from the room.
I crossed his lips, his heart,
and let his soul out the door.

TWO

THREE

He sat with the sun behind him
and I let it hurt my eyes.
I couldn’t see him.
Memories of his face are more vague
than the silhouette burnt into my
retina.
The last time I saw Richard was
Detroit in ’68.
I told my stories.
I had forgotten he could listen.
That his voice was sharper than I had
remember.
At the station I hurried a ‘goodbye’ and
spun on my heel.
Something tore when realised I had
forgotten to look back.
And she said drink up now it’s
gettin’ on time to close.

They tell me stories of the woman that
no one can remember.
The farm boy would make fun of her
blue eyes.
Her voice is in their ears.
Που εiναι τα παιδιa;
They have the same hands as me.
A curved crease starting between the
index and middle fingers
to the edge of the palm.
A line beginning between the thumb
and the index that splits in two
diverging into the cosmos.
Aphrodite read the stars to them.
Across the waters they swore they
would walk to each other if they could.
I am the first time they have seen her.

Stranger says he has fallen asleep.
They burn their incense.
He has long slept; I cannot kiss an
empty man.

Words and Art: Theo Delaney

- 16 - - 16 -

CREATIVE

intimacy
Words: Alisha Brown
everyone was drunk & she was

wish i was a prophet, want god to come
wouldn’t even make him use a condom

inside me
i’m that freaky

would lie in bed fingering my own stigmatas
like
“is this masturbation?”
“do you believe in immaculate
contraception?” “is god cut or uncut?”
would lie in bed texting boys “ur my funeral pyre
i set alight when i climb on top of you”
praying at 2am
like
“u up?”
tell jesus what i’m wearing

not. a disco ball dangled from
the roof like a hanged man, cast
kaleidoscopes of freckled light
upon the floor. there were streamers.
& bodies. confetti & bodies
& a floppy disc? (a floppy disc).
a 2000s computer monitor /flashed/

would demand head
on a silver charger, like
“oh tetrarch,” like
“has anyone ever
told
u that u
look like john the baptist?”
wish i was a virgin, want them to imagine lifting up
my skin
like a bridal veil
and breathing in

WELCOME TO THE MILLENNIUM.
the screen was very bright but the
room was dark & people were swaying
& and grabbing & gyrating & she
decided

to

pretend

to

use

the

bathroom.
the door was locked, so she pretended
to wait in line & moved out of the
way for its previous occupants
(hand in hand, giggling) & simulated
the release her bursting bladder.
she flushed the toilet (for real).

want the kind of righteous judgement where ur hands
are all over me, like oh baby
your fingers feel so good

this halloween i’m
going as sexy joan
of arc

it was quieter now. there was a
toothbrush holder on the sink
without a toothbrush & a sorry towel
whose high thread count threads had
been mauled by sweaty hands. she
flushed the toilet a second time;
nodded to the queue on her way out.
the last girl stopped her. grabbed her
elbow (softly). quiet in there, right?
She laughed. moved Her fingers
down her forearm. felt her skin, the
skipping electrons, the veinwires. she
remembered to breathe. it felt familiar.

shoved up inside my arteries

Words: Perri Roach
Art: Theo Delaney

-17 - - 17 -

BNOCS
Like-clout is the sort of clout bright-eyed first-years

BNOC:

crave as they drink a goonie at arts camp. It records
a clout-relation wherein the clout conferrer wants
to hang out with the clout-holder. Those with likeclout are, well, liked: people actively value and look
forward to the time spent with them. The specific
psychological character of the like-clout is hard
to condense, but appears to be at least a function
of one’s charisma, niceness, and, in some spaces,
moral/political integrity. Note that like-clout is not a
measurement of the authenticity of one’s ‘like’. Likeclout is hardest to come by.

A Big Name On Campus. To say that someone is a BNOC is to say that their
clout level exceeds a given threshold. The greatest BNOCs command clout
in more than one arena.

Clout:

A unit used to quantify and rank BNOCs.
While one might possess solitary units
of clout, the term is generally used
to denote the possession of a clout
cluster, leading some Swedish
psycholinguists to propose the
abandonment of the singular form
altogether. To wield clout is to have
a relation where the ‘clout-holder’
receives clout from the ‘clout-conferrer’.

LEGEND

Respect-clout is the sort of clout jaded fifth-years
crave as they approach graduation. It records a cloutrelation wherein the clout-conferer not only knows
the clout-holder, but admires their activities.

Notoriety-clout is the sort of clout people get
accidentally. It refers to a clout-relation where the
clout-conferer knows of the clout-holder, but does
not know them well enough to be acquainted with
anything but an impression of the clout-holder’s
personality. The cloud-holder may be liked or
disliked as a function of their notoriety. Those who
wield notoriety-clout often have larger-than-life
personalities, and generally it is the clout-relation
easiest to come by because it does not require that
other people value you.

Clout-mining:

The process of maximising clout within one or
more arenas. Each arena has its own routes to
clout-deposits.

Headline and underlying clout

Some clout-relations confer more power on the clout-holder, and are therefore a more desirous clout-relation to wield. We can analyse clout desirability in two ways,
‘headline’ and ‘underlying’ clout. Note that both intensities of clout can instantiate within each clout-kind.
Headline clout refers to the type of clout it appears someone has. Perhaps they
rake in the likes on their DP, or constantly find themselves stopped along Eastern
Avenue for a “we should definitely catch up for coffee soon” style-yarn.

Underlying clout refers to the type of clout someone really has. It reflects
the extent to which the clout-holder is able to use their clout, and the energy of
their clout-conferrers, to get what they want. Formally, this means something like:
“Clout-holder A is the beneficiary of a clout-relation with clout-conferer B if and
only if B is willing to direct their energy towards getting A what A desires.”

For now, all that matters is that one sees that there is a distinction in kind and that people can be subject to clout-inflation. This is where the putative BNOC’s
headline clout does not align with their underlying clout. Again, this does not necessarily mean that person is not a BNOC, but it does mean that they don’t wield the power
they might think they do.

CHOOSE YOUR ARENA
Arenas are of the nine main campus or campus-adjacent social clusters. Best thought of as networks, there are without doubt common nodes that ensure overlap between
separate arenas. Though some arenas concentrate entirely around particular academic or co-curricular institutions, others are expressed more diffusely, and can therefore
be harder to taxonomise. Note that the following list only considers primary arenas of power.
Secondary arenas, incuding debating and revues/drama/comedy could not be fitted in.

THE CHRISTIANS

THE SCIENTISTS

THE ENGINEERS

Little is known to this reporter about the internal
dynamics of USyd’s Christian groups. With some
of the largest memberships of any club on campus,
there is no doubt that their BNOCs wield an
unparalleled amount of underlying clout when they
choose to mobilise. Notoriety-clout is rare in this
arena, as members are inherently committed to
virtuous conduct, free from the vices that befall the
heathen alternatives.
Established routes to the clout-deposit: successful
proselytising, a strong, confident Bible reading voice,
or pressuring ignorant students into voting for
Francis Tamer.

The scientists are an ambitious, inteligent bunch. Its
BNOCs field heavy stats in the respect clout subtree,
as fellow science students covet their dedication
to the heavy contact hours and course load. Clout
revolves almost entirely around university subjects.
Notably, these contact hours leave science
students very little time to mingle with other
BNOCs on campus. Clout is therefore almost
entirely centralised, with some transfer through to
engineering students.
Established routes to the clout deposit: publishing
a scientific paper, sharing practice paper sample
answers with other mortals in the same unit.

Ah, the engineers. How far they’ve come from the
goon soaked revelries of first year, how far into
insular debauchery they have sunk. Some of the
brightest grace the arena of the engineers, as do
some of the wildest. Respect-clout and notorietyclout reign supreme here, sometimes converging on
one renaissance man (and they are so often men).
The respected members wield underlying clout,
mobilising their peers for group assignments and
house parties alike.
Established routes to the clout-deposit: trolling
other cliques, leading group assignments, getting a
Google internship.

- 18 -

BNOCS

INTERNATIONAL
STUDENTS

THE CORPORATES

POLITICAL ACTIVITIES

One of the most obnoxious social clusters is the one
roughly delineated by the intersection of commerce
students, SUBS-members, FMAA-disciples, and
Business One-cronies. Perhaps best understood
in terms of their common end-game, corporates
value networking, monetary success, and often have
superficial relationships of mutual reciprocity.
The corporate arena is characterised by inflated
headline like-clout. This has to do with both the
common ambitions of participants and the fact
there’s often a common academic interest. Though it
offers a bounty of Facebook reacts, and perhaps the
odd job opportunity, it requires the projection of a
carefully curated, non-offensive image, sycophantic
deference, and the avoidance of explicitly
acknowledged conflict (though the psychoanalytics
of the arena’s passive aggression are worth mention).
There can also be respect-clout in the corporate
sphere, but given the inherently careerist nature
of the arena people tend to want to hang with the
people who are most successful anyway. On the
flip side though, people can rapidly lose respect if
they contribute poorly to one of the frequent group
assignments business students suffer through.
Established routes to the clout-deposit:
internships at top-tier firms, diligent commitment to
career-oriented societies, and succeeding in casecompetitions.

Political activities, particularly student politics, offers
participants a complex array of clout combinations.
In this arena one’s like-clout is limited to the size
of one’s faction. This is because stupol is ideological,
partisan, and inherently competitive: members of
other factions are loathe to like their opponents.
Respect-clout in student politics, though rare,
is not unheard of. Some figures do enough work,
especially in activist or administrative roles, to earn
the respect of their competitors.
Stupol tends to generate the most notorietyclout. New events quickly join the canon, and the
names of future NOCs are noted early into their
trajectory. As such, stupol is a magnet for drama,
creating scenarios where people are known but not
well-liked.
Despite this infamy, or perhaps because of it,
these names and figures often wield the greatest
underlying clout. As an arena explicitly designed to
reward that clout-relation it is not surprising that it
is cultivated to a larger degree, and the accumulation
of it is often made easier by involvement in a faction.
That said, stupol is rampant with inflationary clout
Established routes to the clout-deposit:
successfully stacking out a club or society with
factional allies to prove yourself to the higher ups,
getting elected to the SRC, or doing important
activist work.

THE FOURTH ESTATE

It is quite inaccurate to homogenise the international
student social scene in a single sweeping move. As
international students make up about 30 per cent of
the USyd student body and often live close to campus,
they tend to be responsible for a lot of on-campus
activity, and no doubt have a diversity of social groups
and sub-arenas as a result of that. Though I am illequipped to provide a detailed breakdown of these and
the specific character of their clout-relations, recent
stupol elections reveal that the clout such sub-arenas
give rise to allow some to wield the most effective form
of underlying clout perhaps ever seen at USyd.
Established routes to the clout-deposit: participating
in international revue, charming people at Fisher
library, or campaigning vigorously on the hustings.

TO
BE OR
NOT TO
B(NOC)

THE 1 PER CENT

Liam Donohoe unearths the social map of USyd.

Media and Communications is an arena that attracts
creative and ambitious people, who are often as savvy
as they are cunning. The intimate cohort ensures
that most classmates are at least known, and that the
most charismatic figures have a clear demographic to
which they can pitch their antics.
MeCo tends to encourage the cultivation of unique
images, with many figures who are often larger-thanlife. As a result, MeCo can often confer a strange blur
of like- and respect-clout. Respect is accumulated
through success, especially off-campus. Given the
way respect-clout is mined, it is not surprising that
those who are respected are also socially desirable,
explaining the like-respect vagaries.
MeCo is subject to intense headline clout inflation.
Participants in the arena tend to be especially
competent with social media, and also sufficiently
aware and tolerant of the hierarchy that they
sometimes build each other up. That said, MeCo also
produces a reasonable amount of notoriety-clout,
with many from outside their ranks intolerant of what
is perceived to be attention-seeking extravagance and
a liberal, self-referential usage of the term ‘BNOC’.
Established routes to the clout-deposit: doing an
internship at the ABC, being a social media influencer,
or winning Courtyard pizza perks.

Law is a lot like the business world, except the
participants have higher ATARs and hate their degree
much more. As law is done in large cohorts, it can be
especially incesutous, finding origin and expression
in the law society and classroom interactions.
Strangely enough, despite the tax bracket law
students are likely to find themselves in, a narrative
of tertiary-aged progressivism is indulged by many-a
corporate law virtue-signaller.
Like business, law has a lot of inflated headline
like-clout, but personalities tend to be more
heterogeneous and conflict in a more explicit way
as students don’t necessarily need as many people
onside to do well. Respect-clout can be especially
rampant in law circles, with the best and brightest
spoken about in hushed tones.
Established routes to the clout-deposit: doing well
in negotiations or mooting, doing well in subjects,
looking good in a scarf while having coffee at Taste.

THE LAW
- 19 -

The 1 per cent are a sprawling entity, and it is perhaps
inaccurate to treat them as a lone entity. It is diverse
enough to include many of our best student athletes
while at the same time admitting to its ontology private
school students totally indifferent to the university
experience.
What is true of all of their participants is that they
are reticent to engage in other arenas or on-campus
activities. This is because they often perceive these
arenas or activities to be beneath them. Some, for
instance, are so popular in their private school networks
that they simply have no need for the university.
The 1 per cent are rich by definition, and almost
always white Liberal voters-in-waiting. There is often
a larger degree of toxic masculinity than normal.
There is often less career pressure on these types,
meaning they don’t need to spend their time on
sycophantic networking. They are also rarely bound
to mainstream moral conventions, facilitating abrasive
personality types which would be condemned in other
arenas. The 1 per cent are rarely bogged down by
notoriety.
While a lot of the 1 per cent’s clout is inflated, that
clout can be effectively converted into underlying clout
with enough coercion and a clear enough enemy.
Established routes to the clout-deposit: being good
at sport, being popular in high school, being attractive.

LIFESTYLE

Somewhere only we know: Zambia
Millie Roberts tries to find home in her mother’s land.
I’ve only been to Zambia once. It’s one of the lesser
known countries in Africa, landlocked between
Zimbabwe, Congo and Mozambique. It’s also where my
mum grew up, until she moved to the UK as a working
student, met my dad, and got married decades later.

When I was seven my parents decided to take
us, their three pale-skinned daughters with British
accents to the place where half our hearts were
meant to be. But to us, Zambia was a completely
foreign world.

The country is half desert, half oasis. In some areas,
you see young elephants dive in waterholes to tackle
the humid, 30-degree heat. The next day, the soles
of your shoes crunch against the straw-coloured
grass that peeks from the dehydrated soil beneath.
Sprawling communities stifle these natural landscapes,
but sometimes, the latter peeks through. Zebras chew
at the vegetation between parking spots, while dust,
kicked up from the road, stains bricks a permanent
shade of red.

By international standards,
Zambia is third world. But like
all countries, some people are
far better off than others
Zambia is perhaps best known for Victoria Falls in
Livingstone, which borders the Zambezi river. It is the
largest waterfall on Earth, one of the Seven Wonders
of the World, and according to my puerile logic,
named after Posh Spice. We went during dry season—a
disappointment because the water levels were down,
but on the flipside, the risk of being blown off the
viewing bridge by skyward splashes was reduced.
By international standards, Zambia is third world.
But like all countries, some people are far better off
than others. Early in the trip, before the fancy hotels
and safari tours for Western tourists, we were taken
to do the ‘relative rounds’. Aunty Nelly lived in a shanty
town, where vines and palms creep through gaps in the
rusted, corrugated iron walls.
She greeted us at the driveway, dressed head-totoe in chitenge print, and introduced us to a cousin I’d
never heard of before. I can’t remember her name but

I know we were around the same age. Her t-shirt was
torn and muddied, and her hair had been chemically
straightened but stuck up vertically. My parents
stopped me from drinking the glass of water Aunty
Nelly offered me, in case we contracted cholera or
gastro.
My first solid meal as a baby was nshima. The maize
dish, with a polenta-like consistency, is served with
tomato drumsticks, okra, wilted spinach and creamy
beans, to be eaten with your hands. In London, nshima
was a treat. Here, it was eaten every day. At lunch, some
member of my extended family slapped my wrist as I
reached for a plate. “Iwe, wali tumpa sana!”, or crudely
put, “You are very stupid!” In Zambia, your hands had
to be dipped and cleaned in a communal bowl before
going for food. Before we went there, mum would tell
us bits and pieces about her childhood. A large avocado
tree grew in her uncle’s backyard. She’d sit on the steps
with a spoon in hand, scooping every morsel of the ripe
flesh from the pods that fell to the ground.
Back in the Copperbelt, the regional mining town
where she lived, she’d once found a snake in her
unmade bed. And at home in the UK she reminded
us daily of this story, to scare us into making our own
each morning. When we were travelling, before going
to sleep, I’d shake the mosquito nets and cautiously
pull the sheets back, in case any reptilian guests had

wriggled in.
My memories of Zambia aren’t as vivid as I’d like,
and key moments are stored only as isolated vignettes:
eating fresh mango (with salt), crying about not being
allowed to swim in the pool (my hair had just been
braided), the “free” jewellery thrown around my neck by
a street hawker (who demanded cash as I was walking
away), my youngest sister scooping baboon shit into
her mouth (she was a toddler, and my dad stopped
her) or sipping Fanta in the heat while condensation
dripped off my fingers (it somehow tastes better and
sweeter than the Western recipe).
But Zambia has changed now. Foreign investment,
leadership shifts and new money has produced highvalue real estate and climbing GDP per capita, as well as
an emerging middle class. My relatives drive expensive
cars to ‘colony of wealth’ themed horse races, and
while the wealth still doesn’t lie with the majority of the
population, Zambia’s people have been dealt a larger
slice than ever before.
Neither its newfound opulence or deep-rooted
struggle define Zambia’s identity or place in the world.
I’ve changed and grown and so has the country. Now
that we’re older, mum wants us to go back. To once
again get us to try and understand, appreciate and
expose ourselves to her culture, her land and her
history—and I know it’s time.

Legends or lemons? ‘Classic cars’ need more ‘class’
Jamie Weiss is running in the 90s.
Some of my earliest memories are of cars. More specifically, the car my family had when I was a toddler.
I couldn’t tell you what the inside of my childhood
home looked like, but I have an almost encyclopaedic
knowledge of the interior of a 1997 Holden Commodore. When I see one on the road, those quintessential
round ‘90s edges and smiling grilles remind me of trips
to the zoo, storing my Tazos in the rear passenger ashtray compartments and wearing out Wiggles cassettes.
So it’s weird to think that ‘90s cars like my old Commodore—cars that we’d easily call shitboxes today—are
now defined as classics.

‘Classic’ doesn’t denote aesthetic or historical value, just
its ability to survive
Any car over 25–30 years old is technically ‘classic’—
even if they’re unremarkable. You’d think ‘vintage’ would
be a better moniker, but automotive enthusiasts save
that label for cars built before World War II. ‘Classic’

doesn’t denote aesthetic or historical value, just its
ability to survive—and it’s not always survival of the
fittest. For every rusting Ferrari and wheezing BMW,
there’s an impeccably serviced Ford Falcon panel van
or a mint-condition Corolla.
Despite the auto industry’s insistence, I find it
hard to consider the cars of my youth worthy of
being considered classic. But maybe this cognitive
dissonance comes down to nothing more than
legislative quirks. You don’t see many cars from the
‘70s or early ‘80s cruising down Australian roads today
due to emissions controls and design rules. Outside of
car shows or your uncle’s garage, you don’t see cars of
that vintage that often, therefore calling them ‘classic’
makes sense—but ‘90s cars? They’re everywhere!
That might not mean they’re less worthy though.
Mustangs and Corvettes are churned out in their
thousands every year, yet people still pay attention
when you say you’ve got one.
Exclusivity does not a classic car make. And survival
is in and of itself valuable. Rubber degrades, metal
rusts and leather wrinkles: cars need to be cared for,
and maybe that act of care is what really separates a

- 20 -

shitbox from a classic.
Australian society and culture in the last century
has been unequivocally shaped by the automobile.
Cars are not only vehicles: they, like any other text, are
reflections of the aspirations and ideals of their era.
Regular Car Reviews—an automotive journalist
and satirist whose bread-and-butter is making longwinded pisstake reviews of the shitty ‘90s cars that
saturate our roads—makes this point: cars are as
close as we can get to practical time machines. They
represent a confluence of unique aesthetics and
semiotics, from a certain point in time, flash-frozen
into something you can ride in.
Cars are unique among forms of transport in that
they routinely have a special emotional significance to
their owners.
The memories we create, the personalities we
assign them, make them more like a family pet than
just a vehicle. Whether or not a governing body
identifies them as a classic is nothing more than an
acknowledgement of its age. In the end, it seems like
nostalgia is just as important a factor—and in that case,
the ‘97 Commodore is as classic as they come.

LIFESTYLE

Where’s the pride in sport?
Wilson Huang wants Sydney University Sport and Fitness to get a little bit gayer.
A 2015 study found that 80 per cent of Australians had
faced or seen homophobia while participating in sport.
Yet we often ignore the question of LGBTI inclusion in
sport. It’s an important issue—even here, at a University
that trades on its progressivism. So it’s time we took
the conversation onto the field.
That same 2015 study, called Out on the Fields
(ONTF), also found that the majority of Australian LGB
respondents played sport. But when it came to gay men,
22 per cent did not play youth league team sport, citing
bad experiences in their school PE class (43 per cent)
and fear of rejection because of their sexuality (36 per
cent). And tellingly, 75 per cent of Australians thought
an openly LGB person would not be very safe watching
a sporting event. When it comes to USyd, most sports
programs fall under the Sydney Uni Sport and Fitness
(SUSF), an umbrella body that provides funding and
facilities for university students. SUSF binds its athletes
to its Sporting Code of Conduct (SCOC), a document
which sets out expected behaviour standards.
The SCOC prohibits harassment and discrimination
especially on the grounds of gender, ethnic origin,
religion, cultural background and ability. In general, it
commits SUSF to “the highest standards” of conduct in
athletic, personal and professional life.
But the SCOC does not explicitly address LGBTI
inclusion. There are no mentions of sexual orientation,
gender identity or intersex status.

This is not to say that sports groups at USyd have
done nothing on LGBTI inclusion. The SUSF 2017
annual report describes a charity league run by the
Growthbuilt Sydney University Australian National
Football Club (SUANFC).
The competition, called Pride Round, raised $4000
for Beyond Blue. SUANFC held Pride Round again
this year, raising funds for Headspace Camperdown.
President of the Sydney University Women’s AFL Club,
Olivia Warren, who supported Pride Round, said that
the competition “is an important celebration of the
diversity of not only our club, but also our community”.
However, apart from this, SUSF and its associated
clubs seem to have done little else to promote LGBTI
inclusion. A national inclusion programme, Pride in
Sport Australia, invites sports leagues to participate
in its initiatives and membership program. Pride in
Sport’s main project is the Pride in Sport Index, which
seeks to measure LGBTI inclusion in different sports.
But so far, Melbourne University Sport is the only
university sports member. SUSF has not yet signed
up. Clearly, there is a lot our University’s main sports
programme could be doing that it is not.
In 2014, The Anti-Homophobia & Inclusion
Framework For Australian Sports was published,
a joint project between various human rights and
sporting organisations including the Australian Sports
Commission, Cricket Australia, the Australian Rugby

League, the AFL, FFA and the NRL. The framework
consists of six pillars, including a focus on club training,
a sanctions policy, and community group partnerships.
There is strong support for a national framework,
according to ONTF, the authors of the 2015 study.
Their report recommended that “national sporting
organisations need to adopt and promote clear
anti-homophobia and LGB inclusion policies for
professional and amateur players.”
SUSF members have diverse views on whether SUSF
needs to do more to promote inclusion. Hannah Meier
who is a member of the USyd Cheerleading team said:
“I believe SUSF would make accommodations for any
individual who asked, but outside of that exception,
I don’t think it should be any more relevant to sport
than eye colour is.” But on the other hand, Alex Buist,
who does circus aerials classes at the Ledge, was less
positive: when asked whether SUSF needed to do more
to promote inclusion, the answer was frank: “Yes, they
should.” So what could SUSF do to improve? A start
would be to update their SCOC to include specific
protections based on sexual orientation, gender
identity and intersex status and they could participate
in the Pride in Sport Index. Sport is for everyone, and
the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ attitude which has plagued
professional sports needs to stop. SUSF has ample
opportunity to combat this attitude and to be a leader
in promoting inclusion

The absolute best places to smoke weed on campus
Poseidon Scaramouche canvasses the best places to get high in and around the main campus.
Alright dude, we get it—you smoke weed. Basically
everyone does round these here parts, even the fucking
Redfern cat. In fact, it’s so ubiquitous that students
have spots on campus especially reserved for the
public signalling of cannabis consumption.
Some of these places were picked for their
beauty, others for their sneakiness. It is lost to

St.

The Roof of the John Wooley
Building
Ahh yes, who hasn’t smoked
weed in the Wooley Weed
World. For those stoners
intrepid enough to know the
route, their tough trekking is
rewarded with a stunning view
over the campus.
Legend has it that back in
the 70s Vice-Chancellor Sir
Bruce Rodda Williams KBE
made a session in the ‘World’
compulsory for all incoming
USyd students.

the records whether such rationales were realised
via organic convergence or dictated by some karmic
confluence of doped up premeditation.
Now I know what you’re thinking dear
reader; well shit, where are these locales
Mr Journalist man? Where are these
places that add just a dash of that

Paul’s College
Oval

For those who attend
Paul’s this is not a
particularly
novel
choice. But for the
great majority of us
who have nothing to
do with the place,
there is something
particularly
satisfying
a b o u t
desecrating
their space.
It’s fun to
visualise
your nonco n fo r m i s t
inebritation
as a pacifistic
alternative
to burning the
colleges down entirely.
You
get
an
extra
high from
the thrill of
evading enraged Pauline’s!

Your PHIL1011 tutorial

You’d think such a brazen
display of weed consumption
would be frowned upon. But
do not wither in the face of
their
incredulous
stare;
punch
that
cone.
Weed
famously
boosts
cognition, and it’s rumoured
that Wittgenstein copped
a rough brass onehitter here in the early

twenties
after a guest lecture.
Why are you smoking weed
in class? Don’t you want to be
an academic? You need help.
Why won’t they help you?

- 21 -

most desired delusion—spatial significance—to the
high? Well, Poseidon qua stoner has always been one
to serve the student corpus in the highest possible
way, so I went out and got high at every conceivable
intersection of longitude, latitude, and altitude that
falls within the main campus’ boundaries. The fruits of
these efforts are below.

The Lambert Institute

Located in Camperdown’s Brain
and Mind Centre, the Lambert
Institute is the ony off campus
locale to make this definitive
list. And that’s for good reason:
the good folks in the Lambert
Layabout
are
researching
medicinal cannabis one bong
hit at a time.
Hermann’s Benches
Obviously
it
scores well because it
has those sweet medicinal
uds. But the Layabout offers
something you crave even more
than that high-THC Sativa:
normativity. Within its halls of
science your crippling weed
addiction seems a contribution
to medical progress rather
than a debilitating condition
you pass off as a bit of escapist
fun.

Perhaps one of the safest
places to smoke on campus,
Hermann’s
offers
hacks,
activists, and alcoholics alike
a
relatively
unsupervised,
somewhat
decent
garden
proximate to food and the SRC.
Good for joints, pipes, or
even bongs, Hermann’s is an
appropriate setting for eshes
of all varieties.
The Tsingtao branding has
been known to cause adverse
highs, however.

LIFESTYLE

Deep Tea

Diving

Stupol goes FEDERAL
In news that will shock the nation,
friend-of-Grassroots and international
student Board director Decheng
Sun has joined the ALP. At Saturday’s
Wentworth by-election, Sun proudly
wore Labor red in support of candidate
Tim Murray. He was joined by a horde of
Labor diehards: Tom Manousaridis (who
is tipped to be Unity’s Board candidate
for next year), Jack Whitney (former
Board director), Chloe Anderson-Smith
(former SRC president), Bella Pytka
(former almost-SRC president), Alisha
Aitken-Radburn (former USU president
and Bachelor contestant), Hannah
Smith (former almost-SRC president
and NUS education officer)—and the

T(UwU)arget

list goes on.
Self-proclaimed leader of the
Libdependent movement and Board
director Jacob Masina battled hard for
Dave Sharma in Clovelly, but alas it
wasn’t enough.
Former USU Vice President Grace
Frankie, who ran as an indie, wore
purple in support of Kerryn Phelps.

turns out, are nominating Grassrootsaligned Connor Parissis, who was SRC
Queer Officer in 2017. Parissis made
national headlines during the samesex marriage plebiscite for leading a
counter protest against prominent
‘No’ campaigner Francis Tamer, who
emerged from the encounter with a
faceful of hummus. Tamer has now
been elected undergraduate Senate
representative.
In a Facebook post announcing their
candidacy, Parissis concedes their
attempt on Barton is a “losing battle”.
The seat is safe Labor territory, held by
high profile MP Linda Burney. Parissis
also isn’t above biting the Green hand
that feeds them, saying they “remain
extremely critical of the growing rightwing cognitive dissonance within the
party.”

Repselect

It’s on in Bart-on
But stupol’s clutches stretch far
beyond Sydney’s well-heeled East. Cue
scene change to the south-western
Sydney electorate of Barton, where
preselections are ongoing for next
year’s federal race. The Greens, it

All parties are keeping their lips sealed
ahead of next week’s Repselect. That
said, a few rumours have reached
this little mermaid’s ears: Panda is
said to be gunning for both general
secretary roles, and for one of the
two education officer positions. These

are two of the most powerful roles
in the organisation, coming with
generous stipends and well-resourced
departments.
Panda’s Yuxuan Yang, who was this
year’s gen sec alongside Groots’ Nina
Dillon Britton, is allegedly eyeing off a
second year in the position. This year,
Yang spent three months of his term
in China, where he was unreachable.
Yang’s stipend, as one of two gen secs,
was $12,000.
There have also been developments
in the fight for Wom*n’s Officer. We
reported last week that Panda’s Crystal
Xu was bent on the role, despite not
being a member of the Wom*n’s
Collective. Panda looked ready to
violate collective autonomy, to elect a
candidate against WoCo’s wishes. But
word is Xu has backed off, and may not
contest the position after all.
This little mermaid has also spotted
public Facebook posts suggesting the
WoCo preselection has been finalised,
and Layla Mkhayber and Groots
member Jazz Breen are the collective’s
nominees. If council respects WoCo’s
wishes and votes for this pair, they will
be the SRC’s two Wom*n’s Officers for
2019.

This is a special blend of a Target and a This Way And That (Twat). First,
answer the Twat clues as usual. Then, with the grid completed, you
have a regular target to enjoy!

Answers across and down are the same
1 Before (3)
2 This acronym might be written on an
undeliverable letter (3)
3 This abbreviation might be written on a
plaque (3)
Target Rules: Minimum 4 letters per word.
10 words: pedestrian, 15 words: run-of-themill, 20 words: ground-breaking, 30 words:
revolutionary

Quiz
1. Which sacred river flows through the countries of India
and Bangladesh?
2. The chemical symbol for the element Osmium is?
3. This song by hip-hop moguls Kanye West and Jay Z from
their 2011 collaboration Watch the Throne samples a 1966
soul song?
4. Name all stations on the Sydney Trains network beginning
with D?
5. Who won the men’s final at Wimbledon in 1985 at age 17?
6. Japanese city south of Tokyo whose name means ‘beach
horizon’?
7. Which ancient Greek author wrote the play Bacchae?
8. In Naruto Shippuden what is the name of the evil
organisation who are the primary antagonists of the series?
9. Which Glee star was popularly theorised by the internet
not to be able to read?
10. South-West Sydney suburb that shares its name with a
successful football team in North-West England?

Across
9 Frozen scene of actors (7)
10 Cherubim, cacti, sheep for
cherub, cactus, sheep (7)
11 Yale alumnus (3)
12 Made of clay (7)
13 Salivate (7)
14 Clean, whitewashed (9)
17 See 4 Down
18 The Garden City in the East (Asia) (7)
21 The Windy City (N Am.) (7)
23 The City of Light (Eur.) (5)
24 1 Down of the North (Eur.) (9)
28 The Bride of the Mediterranean (Af.) (7)
29 First name of Miranda Sings’ actor;
Jack’s mother in 30 Rock (7)
31 Former name of Tokyo (3)
32 Genre of True Grit and The
Magnificent Seven (7)
33 Birthplace of Rock n Roll (N Am.) (7)

Down
1 The City of the Violet Crown (Eur.) (6)
2 King of the fairies (6)
3 Walter White makes this (4)
4/17 23 Across of the South (S Am.) (6,5)
5 Released in a series of instalments (8)
6 In a risky position (3, 2, 1, 4)
7 The Bush Capital (Oc.) (8)
8 Short black (8)
15 Fuss (3)
16 Grave markers (10)
18 The Mother City (Af.) (4,4)
19 Containing the most fat (8)
20 Subservient (8)
22 Magog’s Satanloving mate in
Revelations; Jez’s kebabloving mate in Peep
Show (3)
25 Wages (6)
26 Says again again (6)
27 Truthful (6)
30 The City of Kings (S Am.) (4)

Quick

Bonus Sudoku

Solutions
Target: Ransoming

Sudoku

- 23 -

SRC REPORTS

President
Imogen Grant
As my term comes to a close, I am
deeply indebted to the people who
ensure the SRC is the remarkable,
fighting institution it is today. To Nina
- the exceptional General Secretary and
the best right-hand woman a President
could’ve ever hoped for. To Lara and Lily
who have led the fight against militarism
and the Ramsay Centre. To Maddy
and Jess who have ensured that the
USyd Women’s Collective remains the
militant hub of women’s rights activism
- both on campus and nationally. And,
finally, to all the SRC staff who are on
the frontline advocating for students
every day.
Next year will be a defining year
for the University of Sydney. It is very
likely that the degree proposed Ramsay
Centre for Western Civilisation will
begin its approval process through the
University committees. The Australian
Human Rights Commission survey into
sexual assault and harassment will be
re-done in 2019. I urge everyone to get
involved with the SRC’s collectives and
participate in urgent, concrete action
for student rights. The possibilities for
students to impact the political climate

are far from dead. Now more than ever
we need to draw on the radical history
of student organisations, which can only
be strengthened by the participation
of students - like yourselves - who
recognise their potential and fight to
revive it.
Unfortunately
there
remains
uncertainty as to whether the SRC will
continue to ‘fight the good fight’. There
is the real possibility that over the next
year the union will become detached
from activists on the ground who have
the real capacity to reshape education
and society. I hope this report can
serve is a reminder that students don’t
live undisturbed by the oppression and
exploitation around the world. Yet too
often student politicians behave like
they do. We constantly hear the rhetoric
of the ‘average student’ concerned only
with the costs of printing and nights
out, as if campuses aren’t implicated in
the injustices which define our society.
Let me be clear: When the University
of Sydney invests in fossil fuels,
climate justice is an issue for our
student unions. When institutions
act as border guards, monitoring the

attendance of international students
and facilitating deportations, borders
are an issue for our student unions.
We have a duty to recognise how our
institutions perpetuate global systems
of exploitation and force them to enact
change.
I hope that during my term I
helped facilitate a student activism
that transforms society, not just our
campuses. At this moment many asylum
seekers who have attempted self-harm
or have critical health issues now have
no access to medical care and, therefore,
it is vital that the SRC shows real and
practical solidarity to the movement to
shut down all detention centres.
Moreover, we need to fight against
the
implementation
of
further
restrictions on immigration at every
turn. Borders necessitate violence: the
violence of being denied free healthcare,
the violence of an immigration raid, the
violence of deportation. Immigration
controls have transformed everywhere
from hospitals to homeless charities
into functioning as border guards,
leaving many migrants with nowhere
to turn. Our fellow students have been

harmed by these measures.
It’s also time to be serious about
climate justice activism. We are fortunate
that Fossil Free has reemerged strong
at the University of Sydney because
students have the power to make all
universities divest, if we organise. When
we must globally cut coal-powered
electricity to almost nothing by 2050
to avoid further environmental disaster,
we can’t afford to sit back and ignore the
issue. Our goal to win a free, accessible
and liberated education system for all
can’t be separated from a world in which
everyone can live, no matter where they
are. There is no issue of justice that is
not a student issue. This principle must
be embedded into everything we do in
the SRC.
I will still be in the office for the
next 6 weeks. Feel free to email me at
president@src.usyd.edu.au if you have
any concerns or wish to get involved
with the SRC. If you are experiencing
any academic, personal or legal issues
and wish to seek the advice of an SRC
caseworker or solicitor, contact us at
9660 5222 or help@src.usyd.edu.au.

Disabilities & Carer’s Officers
Ren Rennie, Robin Eames and Mollie Galvin
Over 45% of Sydney’s train network
is inaccessible to disabled people.
Federal legislation requires the entirety
of Australia’s train network to be
accessible by 2022, but the government
is not making any meaningful
progress towards this goal. Along with
Queensland, NSW shares the worst rate
of public transport inaccessibility in the
entire country.
40% of students at the University of
Sydney travel to uni via Redfern station,
which at present has twelve platforms

and only one lift. Redfern station sees
at least 50,000 commuters every day,
a figure that is expected to rise to
60,000 by 2020. There are at present no
immediate plans to install more lifts.
Join the University of Sydney
Disabilities Collective at Redfern station
on Friday the 26th of October, 2pm, to
protest public transport inaccessibility
and demand meaningful action towards
access for everyone. The speakers
will be Auslan interpreted, and we
will be organising transport from the

Education Officers
The Education Officers did not submit a report.

Global Solidarity Officers
The Global Solidarity Officers did not submit a report.

Indigenous Officers
The Indigenous Officers did not submit a report.

Environment Officers
The Environment Officers did not submit a report.

University of Sydney; please email
disabilities.officers@src.usyd.edu.au if
getting to Redfern station is likely to be
difficult for you. We welcome support
from abled allies.
In other news, last week was
National Carers Week. There are 2.7
million unpaid carers in Australia, many
of whom are young people who are
not well supported themselves. The
responsibility of supporting disabled
people should fall on the community,
never on individuals. And yet many

family members and friends of disabled
people are forced into the position of
having to provide forms of support
that the system should be providing,
because the system is capitalism, and it
is exploitative by design.
As always, if you would like to join the
closed Facebook groups for either the
Disabilities Collective or the Caregivers
Network, please chuck us an email and
we will send through an invitation.

SRC CASEWORK HELP

WORK: Protect Your Rights! Procrastination: Will you
ever get around to it?

If you are employed now, or will be
working this summer, understand
that you have some set minimum
working rights ( like the correct hourly
rate of pay) and conditions your boss
must follow by law. You should also
be protected from discrimination or
harassment.
Sometimes - often in certain fields
of work - they won’t do the right thing
following the law, but there are things
you can do and people you can get help
from so that you are treated fairly.
You might be concerned about
keeping your job and so don’t want to
confront your boss about something
like your pay. One legal condition
for employment is them giving you
a payslip when you get paid, or soon
after. You might try starting with a

request for that and keeping copies of
them for possible use later.
The ‘Fairwork Ombudsman’ can
give you information about your
entitlements and the correct rate
of pay for your industry and type of
employment. You can then, or any time
later, report a boss if you think they are
not following the law.
Seek advice and join a Union to
advocate for you. For example you
could join the ‘Retail and Fast Food
Workers Union’ in the retail industry
, or ‘United Voice’ in the hospitality
industry.
The SRC also funds the SRC Legal
Service who can make a financial
claim for you. Call 9660 5222 for an
appointment.

Do you have a legal problem?
We can help you for FREE!*
Police, Courts
Car Accidents
Consumer Disputes
Visa Issues
Work Issues
Govt Services

Procrastination is when you deliberately
delay completing (or perhaps even
starting) a task, despite the negative
consequences that might come of it. It
is a normal part of life and can happen
to all of us at different times.
It might mean that you never get
around to finishing your readings before
class, submitting assignments on time,
or studying for exams. The obvious
outcomes are that you might lose
marks or fail the subject, but perhaps
you had not
considered
that it might
place stress
on
other
aspects
of
your life as
well? When
you
miss
deadlines,
or recognize
that
your
work is not
as good as it can be, this can lead to
feelings of anxiety and low mood, which
can then have a direct impact on feelings
of self-worth. These feelings can then
disrupt your studies and your life.
Procrastination works in a cycle
like this: we approach a task and have
negative feelings about it (ie. ‘writing
essays is boring’, or ‘I’ll never get this
done’), so we try to avoid this discomfort
by ‘escaping’ and doing something else!
This might initially feel rewarding but
it will actually increase the likelihood
of procrastinating again next time. We
need to find a way to break this pattern.
Solutions
First, identify what you want to achieve,
then put in place some strategies to

Ask Abe

SRC caseworker HELP Q&A
FINANCES: Unpaid Bills
Dear Abe,
I have lots of expenses piling up. I am
unable to see how I’m going to pay them
all when they are due, and I’ve heard
that I can get a loan really easily online.
They’re not a bank, so they don’t have
the same rules, but I wanted to check
that this is safe. What do you think?
Bill

...and more
法律諮詢

法律アドバイス
Level 1, Wentworth Bldg, University of Sydney
02 9660 5222 | src.usyd.edu.au
solicitor @ src.usyd.edu.au
ACN 146 653 143 | MARN 1276171
* This service is provided by the Students’ Representative Council,
University of Sydney and is available to USYD undergraduate students.

We have a solicitor who speaks
Cantonese, Mandarin & Japanese
Liability limited by
a scheme approved
under Professional
Standards Legislation.

get the task done. For example, write
a to-do list, break the task down into
smaller more manageable parts, be
realistic about how long each task will
take, and make a weekly schedule of the
tasks that you have been putting into
the too hard basket!
You can either begin with the worst
task first to get it over with, or start
by doing something that feels more
manageable, and gradually build up to
the trickier ones. It can help to set a
time limit for
yourself to do
as much as
possible,
ie.
set a timer for
20
minutes,
and then take
a break and
reset the timer
again.
Work out
when is your
best time of
day, ie. when your brain works best, and
use that time for the tasks that need
the most concentration. Find the best
location for yourself to get tasks done,
remove any distractions like your phone
or social media (there are apps which
can block devices or websites), visualize
the task being completed, and plan
rewards for yourself when you actually
do complete something!
There are workshops and online
resources on procrastination provided
by Counselling and Psychological
Service (CAPS) at the University, or
feel free to contact one of the SRC
Caseworkers via help@src.usyd.edu.au
or on 9660 5222 for further assistance.

Dear Bill,
The company you might be referring to
is a “payday lender”. These companies
focus on people with no prospect of
lending from a legitimate financial
institution, and charge outrageous
amounts of fees or interest (up to 48%
a year). They are attractive because they
will loan money to virtually anyone,
regardless of their credit history, and

they take around an hour to give you
the money. Using a payday lender is a
terrible idea. Terrible. Please do not do
this.
The University’s Financial Assistance
Service can give interest free loans of up
to $1500 with monthly repayments over
a year. They can also advise if you are
able to apply for a bursary (a loan you
don’t have to pay back) or scholarship.
SRC solicitors can help you negotiate
extended deadlines and payment plans
for bills (e.g., phone, and credit cards).
SRC Caseworkers can help you get
coupons for discounts on electricity,
government loans to catch up with rent,
and give you contacts for free or cheap
food. All SRC services are available to
undergraduate students free of charge.
Postgraduate students should contact
SUPRA.
Abe

/// hunny //////////////
“Dave Sharma Should Have Just Run As An
Independent, Like We Do,” Say USyd Young Libs

Nick Harriott Big-L liberaL

Frustrated by the result of this weekend’s
Wentworth by-election, many Young
Liberals have been left to wonder why
parliamentary-hopeful Dave Sharma
didn’t simply claim he was an Independent as a smokescreen for his patently
Liberal agenda—just like they do every
SRC and USU election.

“It was just plain annoying,”
said USU Board Director Bob-Lynne
Binch, “I could’ve given Sharma all
my tips if he had just returned my
calls.”
When it comes to deceiving the
great unwashed, Binch knows every
trick in the book.
“During the USU Presidential

debate, any time I spoke about being
an Independent I would shoot a wink
to the group of Libs in the crowd. All
of us would giggle because we knew
what was happening but everyone
else was none-the-wiser!”
Francois Tamier, an outspoken
campus conservative known for
speaking freely about his lack of
free speech, wouldn’t necessarily
vote for Sharma but did have some
handy advice concerning clinching
those final votes, regardless of your
political affiliation.
“Sometimes you just have to
make your constituents log into the

University intranet and force them
to vote for you as you look over their
sh0oulder.”
When asked how that would
apply to Wentworth specifically,
Tamier grew agitated, accused
hunny of mounting a violent protest
and jumped behind the counter
of a nearby LifeChoices tent—the
threshold of which he knew, like a
church, we could not cross for fear
of spontaneous combustion.
While Sharma may have blown
his chances at Wentworth, campus
Libs are more confident about
the upcoming federal election.

“Must Have
at Least 6
Feet”
Says Picky Spider
on Tinder
>> pg. 13

“We’ve got lots of tips that we’re
happy to pass on to any Liberals in
marginal seats, and even candidates
in our more secure blue-ribbon
electorates.”
Their chances may be slimmer
than in previous years, but they
believe this is a storm that they can
weather. “Look, in the end voters
are savvy. You can’t convince them
you’re not a heterosexual cis white
male—trust me I’ve tried. But with
a cunning strategy and a little luck,
you can convince them you’re not a
Liberal, and sometimes that’s close
enough.”

//
ANDY &
DOON’S

FINAL BOX

THAT’S A WRAP

Well, it’s been a wild year here
at The ‘Box.
Born at the beginning of this
semester, the mere four months
we have spent on this Earth
has amounted to more than our
sister publication Honi Soit has
achieved in its entire eightynine years.
When we first opened The
‘Box we swore that we could be
honest, accountable and adhere
to only the highest of editorial
standards. We can confidently
say that we have stayed the
course and accomplished all
of those goals, never once
compromising our integrity.
Any accusations of impropriety,
bias or conflicts of interest
pertaining to SRC elections are
nothing more than scurrilous
gossip propagated by amoral
fourth-columnists,
spurred
on by the most repulsive of all
emotions: envy.

ANDY &
DOON’S
SPICE UP!
At last, you
can enjoy y
our hot
gossip over
a spicy KF
C Zinger
burger, fa
mous for
its eleven
secret her
bs and sp
ic
es. Alas,
there will
be no ‘Box
fo
r your
Zinger nex
t year. In fa
ct, there
will be no B
oxes at all.
The new ed
itors will b
e packing
up comed
y and spre
ading it
thick and
fast throug
hout the

NICK’S

Now, we find ourselves at
the proveribal roads diverged
in a yellow wood. Faced with
an uncertain future in either
direction, we will choose the
road less traveled. Its final
destination is unknown to us,
but we can guarantee to you, our
loyal readers, that wherever we
go we will live by the same code
of honour that has bound our
reporting to date.
Our respect for you is
unparalleled and, as such, we
promise our next project will be
one becoming of your intellect,
preferences and proclivities.
We will not sell-out to the
first corporation that offers us a
lucrative sponsorship deal, nor
will we jump into bed with the
first student publication to flit
their eyelashes at us
We will be authentic, we will be
dignified and, most importantly,
we will be perennially yours.
Farewell.

THIS TIME IT’S PERSONAL
At this point I think it falls to
me to apologise to you, the
public. No-one should have to
be subjected to three blistering
Subway hit-pieces—and yet, it
is my solemn duty as a reporter,
nay, as a defender of truth and
justice, to take you down this
road once more.
We have to boycott Subway.
Last week, even though they
had burnt me twice before, I went
back for more. I know, I should
have called it quits by now, but
I really thought I could make it
work this time.
(An important note is that,
once again, I went to Subway with
a modified order. For years, my
foot-long ham cheddar tomato
cucumber and lettuce never led
me astray [except when there
was no bread] but at this point in
time I have been experimenting
with pescatarianism and, as such,
could not rely on my regular
porcine delight.)
I asked for a footlong tuna sub
on white. The sandwhich artist
paused—would you like it on
panini? She held up a small tough
loaf of bread. Intrigued, I said yes.
It’s a dollar fifty, she said. Fine, I
agreed.
Little did I know, I had taken
my first step on a long path to
disappointment. It seemed that I
had not so much chosen a bread
base as I had a style of sandwich.
When I got to the cheese section I
requested no cheese. She seemed
perplexed. She asked me if I
wanted it toasted. I said no. She
said I must. Strange, I thought,
why ask then?
her
despite
Strangely,
insistence, I was quickly moved
along to the salad bar without
my panini being toasted. Good,
I thought, problem solved—
before the next sandwich artist
responsible for the salad started
telling me which vegetables I

was going to have. Capsicum,
olive and onions, he said. I
became still. I had never been
in this situation before. Without
even acknowledging his demand
I started slowly listing my
vegetable choices. He, equally
hesitantly, complied. Thinking I
had endured the worst of it, I slid
further to the right and aligned
myself with the cash register.
So imagine my surprise when
my sandwich artist didn’t follow
me but rather doubled-back
down the production line, added
some mozarella to my panini and
threw it into the toaster. I was
dumbfounded. I wanted to yell out
but I was paralysed by confusion.
It took less than ten seconds
but it felt like an eternity. The
toaster dinged, he took my panini
out and began walking it back to
me.
Finally, I thought, I can just
cut my losses and get out of here.
But no, it wasn’t over. He stopped
short of the cash register and put
the panini into a sandwhich press
for another go! It was at this
point that my confusion turned to
a lightly simmering rage; a rage
as hot as the sweaty tuna that was
now being handed to me.
Now, despite all my rage, I
am still just a regular person so
I didn’t say anything. I took my
weird hot tuna panini and I left.
I understood now why toasting
was a panini prerequisite. I also
understood why there was a set
salad mix for the panini. But that
didn’t change the fact that when
I was upsold to a different bread,
they neglected to inform me I was
also agreeing to certain terms and
coniditions; ones which I didn’t
fully undersatnd, ones which
left me with hot cheesy fish and
a warm limp salad, all on an
(admittedly) crisp panini.
Never again, Subway. Never
again.